The Heron stands like a sentinel
On the shore of his jade green lake
Watching and waiting for gunfire
And the bloodshed in its wake.

The fish are growing larger
As each day of Death goes by
The carrion crows hover
Watching, from a cold blue; cloudless sky.

The lambs born in the aftermath
Like children being led astray
They bleat like crying babies
Genetic songs of yesterday.

The old dear wrapped in her garb of black
The old man watching the young
Will mans inhumanity only end
When the last lament has been sung.