It stood motionless in the deathly breeze
Tall and proud it stood
Amongst fields of sweeping silence
The colour of its many arms
Alone on an otherwise blank canvas
Then the thing appeared
A fiery cloud
Consuming it
Enveloping it into nothing
When the cloud retreated
It was no more
The last soldier of war
Its innocence
Like many
Forgotten
As it joined the colour less wasteland
Of a forgotten time
Though there is still hope in those souls alone
Happy in knowing
There will be no more
After the last soldier of war
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem