It is dawn,
Men in green jumpsuits,
Have struck terror,
Up the mountains down the deserts,
I remember grandfather telling me stories of heroes and traitors and villains and fighters of a Desert warfare,
We were sitting under a palm tree,
eating dates and sipping mint tea,
his voice takes me back there to a time,
when he was not even born,
Though I was not entertained,
I was mourning,
As a stranger would mourn the desert rain its brevity,
But it is dawn, does it matter?
All men that had fallen had been forgotten,
A nation rose and fell and is aiming to rise,
Can it matter?
I guess not...
For what grows.... In the desert,
Anyway?!