All my friends already died,
The old man laughed
The young one cried
The children played
The flaws were stoic
The coffins weeped
The urns were poets
When all the bells
Had had their tolls
The women filled their
Washing bowls
The men threw rocks
At window panes
The children slept
On mothers manes
Their skirts blew west
Above their waists
Young boys whistled
Remaining chaste,
The world was simple
And bombs away
When young boys drafted
Their young girls stayed
We built their planes
And sent their baskets
When boys came home
We chose their caskets
A simpler time
Though bombs away
The women weeped
On holidays
The urns were poets
The coffins closed
The flaws were stoic
The children know
The young man laughed
The old one cried
All sons and friends
Already died.