The River of Tears

They say it's well hidden
but it's been there for years,
down by the great oaks
lay a river of tears.

On the soft muddy banks
the ground is well worn
by the feet that have stood there
and the countless forlorn.

When the wars had concluded
and the fighting had ceased,
survivors faced famine
instead of the feast.

In the winter that followed
there was nothing to eat,
a woman was crying
down a cold empty street.

The wind had come calling
and was moving so deft,
it skidded cross sidewalks
through the alleys and left.

The maimed and the starving
had eaten the scraps
and anything left
was bait for the traps.

The governments argued
and wars had been fought
with no hesitation
and no prior thought.

Now the ones who were bitten
by the mad dogs of war
had fought for the causes
we'd died of before.

Then all of the cities
were leveled to dust
for cruel winds had blown
in hate and mistrust.

To the patriot generals
the carnage was known
by the dead fallen soldiers
whose bravery had shown.

Now their bodies lay buried
beneath the oak tree,
in the shade they seek shelter
by the river they're free.