The odd small child has copped it,

A writer here, a pensioner,

And, just around the corner,

An engineer.

 

It’s the same old detritus of war;

Keep moving now,

There’s nothing to see,

Nothing to fear.

 

The single mum with stumps for legs

Has made somebody’s day,

Just like the school and hospital,

Each with rooves blown away.

More detritus, but life goes on,

In Moscow and in Washington.