The flowers were always there
A testament to life
Nature’s soul, nature’s love.
A white rabbit hops across the field
Cradled and held by the sea of flowers
And a light breeze.
Then the war,
And the men parading their proud-looking horses across it,
Leaving behind only dirt.
The next day it is covered,
With mud and blood and bullet casings and young people
Screaming in agony.
One without hair, one without legs.
They closed their eyes and wept,
Mourning the death of the field.
And the white rabbit.