Morning breaks without bombs.
The sun's sharp rays invade this little room,
Where lies our son who will not go to war
Unless he wants to. Who will not starve.
And still we worry -- criticize each other
In perfect safety, relative tranquility
We feel besieged, by sharp words wronged.
We all were bred for battle.
When sleep deprived he whimpers,
My frustration fires. A father
Who's held his son raggedly dying
Can't have a night like this.
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