When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved
The spring tides of the seas of memory lust
The mind’s door swings, the torture scene’s retrieved
Children have no power and cannot leave
Adults fearful,wild, and, more, callous
Caught too soon by fools and madmen’s weaves
In Europe where the vicious wars' conceived
Children dwelt in terror,to their cost
As dreadful memories stole their minds like thieves
Are souls mature enough to learn from such deep grief
When we feel devalued with no past.
When we’re struck by hardships,we still seethe.
Adults have the power to look, perceive.
Each child is Jesus,tortured on his Cross
This is the horror of our memories
My heart is pierced by children on the News.
Echoes shake this heart till black and blue.
Whether felled by error,war ,disease
With patience, may we tolerate unease?
How my heart sings 