Colin F. Jones

WHERE DEVIL’S ANGELS PLAY

We maimed generations with the atom bomb,
with Agent Orange we did as we had done.
Now we fear that others have the power,
to reproduce what was our finest hour.
Our finest hour when all those people died,
when politicians and army generals lied,
that now we suffer, (we who went to war),
with those who loved us and with those who saw.
The little children, the children of the morrow
that we old veterans see, with regretful sorrow:
Forming families deformed by sad despair,
suffering in silence because we did not care.
We deserve no less… we who lead the way,
to our heaven, where devil’s angels play.