I watched a bird dance in the grass today.
A soldier was killed in Iraq today.
The bird gathered sticks for a nest.
The boy’s mother collapsed upon hearing the news.
Traveling between branch and soil the bird lives its truth.
“He was just a baby,” she says with tears running down her cheeks, “Just a baby!”
As the sun fades the bird’s labor ceases; time for rest.
A plane takes off, more babies for the battlefield, human currency for the nation’s debt.