monster war

On one great wooden patio,
there sat a little girl.
From her hair, pinned up so neat,
there fell a golden curl.

A tear rolled down her rosy cheek,
reflecting how she felt.
She remembered her kind father,
and how he'd said and knelt,

"I have to go away now,
but i'll be back real soon."
She thought of that now as a lie,
as she stared into the moon.

She'd recieved the news just yesterday,
of her father's death.
Her father was a brave young man,
but had taken his last breath.

A man had shot him in the chest,
the bullet hit his heart,
now a piece was missing in her life,
where her father was a part.

Her father wasn't a selfish man,
and he hadn't gone in vain,
but that wouldn't take away the pain,
that pounded in her core,
the pain that she had always felt,
since this monster war.

So before you sign that famous list,
think before you write,
of the little girl that sat there,
on her patio that night.