War Mornings

• Amelie Szoeke, Grade 5
• Poetry
• 2019

The bright, reddish sun rises slowly over the horizon to signify that a new day has begun.
The strong sound of footsteps and gun shots grow louder as I get out of my rusty brown bed.
As I step out of my cold wet tent, I see thousands of brown splintery grave stones with crimson smooth poppies surrounding them.
I quickly grab my heavy, green and brown suit, it keeps me warm and protected.
I see my black, rough helmet hanging in the distance.
All of a sudden, a tear of fear comes slowly rolling down my face.
I close my eyes and silently whisper, "What made me come to this awful place?"