Birdsong

"Minute" poem for the Poetry Scratch Pad

Birdsong

A waste of life does haunt this ground,
Young deaths by sound
of blast and gun,
no side had won.

    The cratered earth the grass can't hide,
    the men inside
    can hardly sleep,
    their souls pushed deep.

I watch what's left of wounds and gore,
their ears hurt sore
and left to ring
                  while birds here sing