Some murmur, when the sky is clear,
and is wholly bright to view upon.
Oh! It’s the trumpets clangor,
with loud shrills of anger.
Everything is fair in love and war,
for the sake of fame, of its winner.
But what about the warm complaining tears,
that discover that they have to leave their lives and lovers.
Glories of our blood and state,
are shadows not substial things.
There is no armor against fate,
Death lays its hands on icy kings.
The youth of nation, when you die unknown,
and about your deeds, few could know.
It is in you to head to peace,
than war for me, you n everyone else.
Well, This was one of my first attempts at poetry!! Hope it is cool.
With warm regards