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| Thinking of a battle at the time.. old, ancient.. |
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Gently she cries
As the snow falls
Upon her shoulders,
Cloaking her in white.
Lightly he steps,
A hand resting
Softly upon her neck
As he murmurs
Whispers of faith.
Turning into
The haven he creates,
She laments
The scene before her,
The stained battle ground
A curse for any child
Where the fighting
Had newly ended:
A rebellion
Against a world of peace.
And she sings softly
Shuffling away quietly
From the lonely girl,
Whispering,
Nothing is sacred
Where the innocent
Die for the guilty.
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