What are we waiting for, mum?
Shh, darling. People are paying their respects.
To the old lady?
She wasn’t old, my love.
So why did she die?
An accident. No, not an accident… She was unlucky.
What do you mean, mum?
She was on her way home and then…
She met someone who wasn’t nice.
Not all people are nice, sweetheart. Some of them are nasty and like to hurt other people.
She met a bad man?
It seems that way, yes.
How did she die?
We don’t know yet, baby.
We might know one day. The police are investigating, trying to find out.
But she wasn’t old?
No, beautiful girl. She was young. That is why people are sad.
Why did they bring flowers?
That is what people do when they are sad.
But we didn’t.
No. We didn’t know the lady.
But I want to bring flowers.
It is better for the people who did know her to bring them. It will help them to feel better. We are not bringing flowers so that there is space for theirs.
Oh. When can we bring flowers?
When it is someone we know.
I don’t like it when people die.
I know, sweetheart. Nobody does.
Why do people die?
It is part of life.
So she died because it is part of life?
I don’t know, my love. I don’t know.
Simple lines are drawn in sand
Before too long a raid is planned
Evading those so underhand
They would presume to claim this land
Off we sneak in battle dress
Such gentle men and ladies, less
To mop and mock the endless mess
Than blow things up, as merciless
To violence we’ve long adhered
We have become the thing we feared
And afterwards may not be cleared
Of careful killings, well prepared
Poor War has wandered far and wide
From hill to valley, mountainside
And sunk such fortunes, fear and pride
To foster thoughts of suicide
Promoting causes, long since lost
He breeds support and hides the cost
Our future terrorists to host
More pointless conflict, until most
If not quite all are lying dead
Two tribes with matching holes in head
Surrounded by twin pools of red
Both died for an ideal, it’s said
And what is left to selfless men
But legends of their struggle, gain?
We heed such calls to follow pain
Our children reach for arms again.