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Sitting calmly on the kitchen floor
Hearing thunder hit the door
Listening to his mother pleading
Please don't harm my dear duckling
Tumult, corruption, confusion all about
Nothing but blurs and glimpses he doubts
Sounds of fear pounding in delicate ears
Misunderstood actions, a child but two years
Exploding booms of unmerciful tools
A mothers last scream filling the rooms
Pitter patter on the window pane
Little drops of crimson rain
Restfully dropping right by his side
Stroking the hair of the mother who died
Innocence of his eyes glittering through
The sorrow and sadness of the scene past his eyes flew
Still he sits calmly through the chiming of wars bell
In the essence of his mothers sweet smell
Later on he is drowsy and lays his little head
To feed serenity from the heart which for his love bled
A sight of an angel flying by
His soul carried to the heavens high
Leaving a precious little body behind
A sign of the blind war wishing to grind
Note: This poem is a tribbute to all the children who were killed in war.
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