Snow is falling.
Tears are flowing.
Blood is spilling.
People are slipping,
Farther and farther away as the snow bleeds red.
The shots ring out as the drums thrump,
Keeping time to the falling of the bodies.
Soon the field bleeds into a portrait of red and white,
As the painter paints with all the colors of the dead.
And then the battle is finished.
People run as the fallen are abandoned on a cold bed of snow
Forever lost, but never forgotten.
Doomed to be locked away on an eternal canvas.