Shoot Down

Pitti Dias

The gun does its job
Until we hear voices and screams
But look, it was a child's cry
Echoed in the void of the night

The earth will return your hate
Will be born
But the rose will not come
Not until the men
Learn to cry

Even if one day the flowers bloom
In your garden or mine
Know that somewhere the flowers
Will never be born like before

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