Colin F. Jones

AFTER THE BATTLE: HUE

The Perfume River runs red,
The Citadel reeks of the dead
As the cordite smoke dies;
In rubble Hue City lies.
Black clad mothers weep
Where their loved ones lie asleep
In hastily dug graves
By a regime that depraves…
And the body bags line up
Where a survivor sips his cup.
The battle sounds have gone,
None knowing who have won…
But knowing that the cost
Is an essence forever lost.