
A war had ended,
yet more battles they did brew—
each year marked by deaths.

A war had ended,
yet more battles they did brew—
each year marked by deaths.

His duty was done;
into the valley of death,
rides next consignment.

It rains and it shines,
to see the world in new light,
we reflect, refract.

Frustrated painter,
swings arms, cracking her elbows;
sprays trees with colour.