A Bullet
A bullet costs less than a quarter
A life is cut shorter
A bullet is made of lead
A life is dead
A bullet is fast
A life's wound is vast
A bullet hits hard
A life is scarred
A bullet is loud
But life has allowed
For a bullet to exist
Rather than blacklist
A bullet hits all they say
It makes the news straightaway
But a bullet costs a quarter
And life is its importer
This poem is about:
My country