Colin F. Jones


We never sorrow; do we for the foe,
‘tis all their grief sustained from us you know,
And all those children who for Mothers cry,
Who in the battle innocently have died.
Where do the bombs land; where do they fall,
We care not when we fight them, not at all,
Old people anguished many of them dead,
The streets are painted with a crimson red;
The houses burning broken and destroyed,
The fields of wheat are where the tanks deployed.
No we don’t sorrow for our determined foe,
Mid all the destruction upon them we bestow,
The homeless children babies left to die,
Along with soldiers, not ever knowing why.