when all the world is sleeping, the girl I found in Adder Wood sat on a tree-stump, weeping. Why do you cry my lovely one? Who so deserves your pining, when all the birds are on the wing and summer sun is shining? But oh the wars, the bloody wars to end all wars, keep coming. And still the blood, the precious blood, the peoples blood is running. I cry for my young soldier boy who fell in foreign mountains, and yet the war-torn peoples tears would fill the Roman fountains. The wicked human failure is what fills my heart with sorrow for my soldier and the people who were robbed of their tomorrow. But oh the wars, the bloody wars to end all wars, keep coming. And still the blood, the precious blood, the peoples blood is running. Charlie Gregory Poet on a Hill
