We play with guns-
Brandishing them in jest. Fools! Claim not them to be violets!
Mock a spark
And war will naturally follow. As simple as hay with a spark, So will nation against brother toil
We are weak
We start a fire, yet shy away when it brightly glares- Burning, raging, destroying... And ancient ones roll in their graves Groaning at our stupidity.
Did they die for naught?
Did they play and ramble with nonsense? Did they spill their precious blood- Willingly openiñg hand of all their loves- For nothing?
No! Again I say:
Fools! Don't mistake war with peace. Don't die for play. Don't waste your brother's life for jest.
Violets are flowers. And guns are guns.