With a shield by his side and a sword in his hand,
He looks around to see his foes.
A torn woman with a crying child in her arms,
A seven-year old boy stands unmoved with a wooden sword,
And a little girl calls aloud for her unsaved mother.
The girl glances his way then begins to sob,
She tries to runaway, but turns and stumbles;
Stumbles over the body of a patriot.
She rises from the ground to see the soldier fall and weep.
That hero was among those who did no wrong.
He had slayed innocent blood,
And could not alter what he had done;
He could not repaint the past as something beautiful.
The boy came and laid his stilted sword by the soldier,
And the little girl clung to him as tears sunk into his garb.
He screamed aloud into the skies;
And as the darkness rolled away,
He fell upon the ground transforming his condemned limbs into ash.