The children flying kites and laughing at all those heads buried into the blackened pikes that line the ridge and while crossing the bridge of whys they were still laughing at all those poor guys who wouldn't be poor anymore,

It makes me proud to praise that the children we raise are not frightened of bloodshed or the odd head or two on a pike or two doing what lopped off heads do which isn't much,

but that thinking is so nineteenth century when at the height of the running sores known only later as ****** wars it all seemed so passable, laudable, die for the cause if you're able to,

and now all we do
is crochet
knit
play croquet on the lawn
some people today don't know
that they've been born.