Sunday, 9 November 2014


A poem by my then, 11 year old grandson, Ros:

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 bullets.

Visit ann arky's home at

No comments:

Post a Comment