In that first year, now so far away
when bombs struck and held us at bay,
cowering under rubble of ancient brick and stone
that was when we first lost our home
The soldiers came and the old order went,
Men shaved their beards and women donned their eyes,
But out were we as no longer to school we were sent.
Battles raged and the "Western press" came and went,
meanwhile our cave hidden rations lasted us something to lick
Old places were deserted, new ones quickly marked and changed
No day had routine, each day a whizzing bullet exploding into a flame
Most moved on from the small village I lived,
almost all of it shut down.
We were never free from our misery,
hidden to the outside world,
except for occasional evening star seeing
until the American planes overhead did roar.
The first year of occupation came and went,
Minus a few friends, limbs and lives put on bent.
Crimea, the Prize as Always
7 months ago