Twinkle, Twinkle Little Hands
oh, I ponder of what is fun,
all above the hill of that is gone
in the morning flight the people
run
like a golden flame ups in the sky,
the teary eyes for everyone see
in the sand, even thou race is full
of mark in the hands
face up and down in the ground,
surrounded with barrel of the guns,
canon arm in the tank, the wall
capture the tears of an innocent
son
where, must be the reason, the wounds
bleeds the flesh, for everybody
calls for One, nothing left, but
hate not the heart in the sun
show us mercy not the silent of the
hour; a something that quite each
soul to mercy...
.
poem by Antonio Liao
Added by Poetry Lover
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