Poem Hunter
AS (12-19-52 / Boston Ma.)


Poem By AHO Speaks

Every nation has its monuments to youthful dead
Such a pity, such a waste; words seldom if ever said.
That child was mine as a gift from my God
I held and touched; now he lies beneath the sod.

Blood on the earth that saps the breath from men
I ask you God; to stop the massacres now, not when.
Each conflict has its side of right and wrong
But youthful men are taken out of the human song.

To put half the effort planning for war into a plan for peace
Destruction of our youth; a time to cease.

11-27-05 Aho Speaks

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