I wonder and I often weep

When I see children fast asleep,

While shells and missiles thunder down

On streets and building in their town.

 

They’ve grown accustomed to the noise

Of their enemy’s grotesque toys;

Oblivious to every bang,

As though some modest church bell rang.

 

They run to schoolyards, as they must,

Past dwellings crumbling to dust,

And all, at lesson time, they draw

Are guns, and bodies on the floor.

 

Their childhoods have been snatched away,

Their routines warped by sick men’s play.

They are resilient, that’s sure,

But none escape unscarred from war.