Living now in North Wales and a grand mother. My life long wish has always been to be a paperback writer, but I cannot afford it.
The fighting is over, the battle is won
Overhead the crows are gathering
The dead lay like a grisly carpet
Those not dead groan or cry and pray softly
Worst of all is the heart rending whimpering
Of men knowing they are about to die and are afraid
The victors celebrate in the great hall
With drink and food in plenty
Raising glasses to the glorious dead
What's glorious about it?
The losers, in chains, sit bemused
Trying to work out where they went wrong
Exhausted horses in the stables
Stand with heads hanging low
To tired to eat, barely able to drink
But Man will always find an excuse to fight man
For freedom, for greed, for religion, for love, for land
And though those that have won are glad
Relieved to be alive to see this victory
Yet at this moment, the only true winners
Are the crows that are now descending.