They fall like heavy rain to the street below,
impacting the lives randomly as do they stop,
tore to pieces, lumps, a stain on the now
crumbling wall, They were just drinking tea,
then the rain fell and they were no more.
The drops fell everyday, rickety shelters in a
garden false hope, but what hope was there
when the noise of incoming clouds could be
seen and heard so dark as they floated by,
then the rain when it fell, rubble now where
lives where lived, as what was inside now
strewn about.
The heavy rain did fall, where it fell fire
breathed and destruction was the music
of the day, a symphony of of mayhem on
a grand scale. Streets run red and black
lives were lost to the rain randomly each
day, you lived each day as if it was your
last for when the rain fell it took you in
a moment or you wished it took you in
the blast.
As injuries from torn skin bones smashed,
would you survive luck was the friend, and
death took many away for when the rain
dropped and the buildings burnt with those
like wicks burned alive. It was a terrible time
and may be again never forget those that
pasted and for those that lived on ...
This is about when the UK was bombed in the second world war and they fell like a rain of death