---

All silent is the room,

No, no stir of breath,

Save mine, as in the gloom

I sit alone with Death.

Short life it had, the innocent,

Small child here lying dead,

Covered in shroud of white

The gore beneath too much to behold.

Sweet infant, dead too soon,

Thou shalt no more behold

The face of sun or moon,

Or starlight clear and cold.

Seventy five years

The world did nothing.

Sacred land stained with blood.

History will tell a dark tale.

Small feet that nevermore

About the house shall run;

Torn apart by evil men with guns.