a nation at war

The battlefield speaks to the crimson sea
Wondering if the heros are still fighting
The sky whispers to the fiery battlefield
Telling it the pilots are still flying high

A myriad of years tasting pain, hearing prays
And seeing blood flip-flop onto the auburn soil like rain onto a window
Nights and days cries of children and wails of adults, an unending orchestra
In a heaven that awaits peace and freedom to march home

The last Rumba, yet to begin and the first musical pulse, yet to be heard.

Good work Tri Tran