Unmarked graves in far off fields,
So many lives to the Grim Reaper do yield.
Death looked on in a khaki shroud,
As millions died by the Hiroshima cloud.
Soldier's bodies are often not found,
But still both sides machine guns give of more rounds.
If war kills so many, how can it be right?
Yet plenty more warriors join up to fight.
Countries send in your loved ones to sort out their strife,
Fighting solves nothing;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem