By Nikoli Weir

From the spring of rage and sorrow

Flows the blood of love long dead.

Love that did not see the morrow,

The sacred words it had not said.

From this spring of loss and sadness

It flows in strong and measured spurts,

Through this world of death and madness

It flows and brings us so much hurt.

It flows and stains the green grass red

And severes trees roots from the earth

In mourning for the countless dead

Who fought and died for freedom’s birth.

It mourns for all the broken souls

Who never found their one true love,

For those who lived a life so foul

In which they never tasted love.

It mourns for those who do not live

For those who live in constant rage.

It mourns for those who never give

For those who never feel youth’s age.

For those who never felt the glare

Of the kind and gentle sun

As the wind blows through their hair

Dancing, having so much fun.