A sweet crunch of frozen grass
the acrid taste of decaying ash
like gray snow, coming down
and airplane engines making horrid sounds.
The war worms its way into your weary heart
as you watch the children tearfully depart
toward save havens far from the train station.
God seems to smirk at his messy creation:
desperate babes cry as they're torn from their mothers
weeping sisters find little comfort in their stoic brothers,
who fight back tears to make absent dads proud.
The chugging trains are far too loud
for tender good-byes to be properly made;
children's innocence is too far gone to be saved.
The youngest of them have never not known fear
a dark world is that which they see most clear,
a bright world would burn their infantile eyes,
better to watch motionless as their universe dies.

One young girl will not see her father again,
she'll hear it soon, from the soft chirp of the wren.
For now she stands still and watches her world burn,
and asks her mother, "Do we ever really learn?"