Sunday, 22 June 2014


     From the mouths of babes, a poem written by my then 11 year old grandson. 


War is a bullet in someone's chest.
War smells like gunpowder.
War tastes like sour lemon.
War sounds like people screaming and crying.
War feels like a cold hand.
War looks like a broken picture of a family on the floor.
War lives in a box of bullets.

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