The little girls were playing in the school,
Like flowers tossing their heads in a garden,
It was their world, full of energy and curiosity,
With love of learning and the joy of small rewards.
They did not know the world beyond this place,
The mothers, the fathers, classmates, brothers,
That was their universe, tender and complete,
Little were their worries, fanciful were their dreams.
They had the freedom to choose their toys, their hopes,
They knew little of nations, religions, or decisions,
For all of that was chosen by the powerful,
While they lived and laughed beneath an open sky.
Then came the shadow of Nations powerful,
Who had promised fury to the end kingdom of fear,
And so the mighty launched Operation Epic Fury,
To bring them freedom, to make their world secure.
A missile was launched precise, deliberate, just,
Or so the powerful nations told themselves,
It struck the ground where little feet had danced,
And all the little flowers were swallowed by fire.
They were given no time to weep, no time to flee,
No time to whisper one last word, one last goodbye,
They became the target of the most humane of nations,
The offering laid at the feet of a Nobel Prize.
For many nations, for many faiths, it was no crime,
It was not murder only a necessary operation,
A clean and worthy mission to end a kingdom of fear,
Except the flowers never asked to be set free this way.