Between wooden stalls children skip
along corridors of kindness,
crescents stand before the cross
though not enough to mark the loss.
cool stone lined streets,
for damask sheets.
While under rubbled cities
lies the debris of their youth,
they know not what this place is
but one day will know the truth.
And that should strike a fear in those
who shrug, then gird their lands
who cover eyes and close their ears
and wash the blood from idle hands.