Man. Small in stature.Â
Ventured forth from homeland far,Â
phantom sounds of bullets unshot echoing in the past.
If parents (not so grand) had done their duty,Â
this poem oould be a happy ditty.
Â
Far you ran from country and truth.Â
What was the point of it all?Â
Telling tales so tall?Â
Was it worth sacrificing youth?
Years weigh on your shouders, sooty.
How long will this last?Â
Sowing discord near and far,
your children’s minds you hope to capture.Â
Man, small and cold.Â
Your children wanted the same as you:
to feel the warm glow of a parent’s unconditional love.Â
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