As kids, enjoying usual larks,
We fell on floors and grazed our knees,
And came a cropper climbing trees.
Slingshots and conkers tied to strings
Were weapons made from our own hands;
We fought in playgrounds and on swings.
Now we are adult and fight wars,
But our manoeuvres stay the same.
There are high stakes in our new game,
It’s true, and more expensive toys,
But modern slaughter’s root remains
In playtime pranks of little boys.