A gentle sunrise over a calm scene,
A beauty to distract the eye,
From the horrible fight once been,
And the terrible times past by.
A gentle wash of poison,
Death is in the air,
There lies someone's son,
Blood seeping through his hair.
As he gazes upon the world,
Minutes from his death,
He realises he is about to die,
And takes his final breath.
After now times past by,
Rows of crosses so grave,
Indent on the heavenly sky,
A memory of those so brave.