The streets i walk are paved in crimson rose,
I tightly clasp on gladiolus leaves,
With bodies strewn now left to decompose,
All for the sake of gold and land for thieves.
With pearl of jewels which fall from winter's eye,
And countries left in turmoil in their wake,
Each eagle throughout history is sly,
And say they fight for peace while lands they take.
But i do not believe in what they say,
How peace is justified with guns in rage,
For there is still blood-shed till this fine day,
Nor are we any wiser through each age.
When will the dove with olive branch prevail?
And guide the hearts of men who would assail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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