Aleppo fallen! Murder rife!
Bullets, bombs, bitter strife.
How many of us kneel and pray
For mercy and peace, to rule the day?

Riches, this planet’s great resource
Love, must be bequeathed, of course
But childens inheritance of peace
Can only happen if wars cease.

We are old, to rest inclined
Yet question what we leave behind.
Some say, “Who cares? We won’t be here.
There is only death to fear”

So much taken, So much broken
Perhaps this poem is a token?
Yet this too can burn.
When? Oh when, will people learn?


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