Cry
In the mist of the battlefield
His love just slain
A man has lost his love
He's in tremendous pain
He cries through the night
And lives a life of loss
His lover lost his fight
And he yearns for a gloss
But why can't everything be of reason
Why must there be this of treason
Of the times when things were good
And everything was as it should
And the lives of those young men
Were still to be seen again and again
Until the great war
Of blood galore
Because love is nothing compared to hate
In this terrible destined fate
This poem is copyright 2002 Mouser, to whom comments may be sent.
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