Gunshots echoed through the streets
Bare the chilly wind blew
Harsh on her face
The tiny fragile fingers firmly held her hand
Afraid to let go
No food, no water, no roof
Every day, every minute, every second
Passing by slowly
Hope . . .
The last supply left
But soon would be used up
No one knew the date
The tears were from the cruel, harsh cold winter wind
So she told herself
Fleeing from the only place they could call home
Fleeing from all they had ever known
Somewhere far away
They rounded a table
Discussed plans for a future
The first leaf of spring
Settled not far away
But when and would it truly end
For those who had lost
More than pride, more than freedom
. . . Life . . .
The streets scarred
The brutal unforgiving war
The lives that were lost
The souls that suffered
It would never be the same again
On the news...
It was inevitable they said
This was the chance to change they said
While in the cold alleyway
She shivered and the tiny hands in hers shuddered
The war was over they said
Peace would return they said
Life would be normal again they said
Would it . . .