Amid The Guns

• Nui Matthews, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2015

Amid the guns the bullets fly, through the sky.

Together we fight, although it gives me a fright.

As we live we think that the foe are the assassins,

But still we kill and take the lives from,

A father, a brother, a mother, a sister,

a son, or a daughter.

The blood on the ground

is as red as the poppies that grow.

Lest we forget.