bloodred flowers in crisp ivory snow
it´s not from mother earth that they do grow
they spring from another source, the living
now dead


strong warriors of nations far and wide
that fought nobly and bravely side by side
their destiny in crimson on white snow
is read


a book that saddens these green eyes of mine
a story of war, violence and crime
it is gory but I can´t help but see
an image in the stains staring back at me