I was in a grey battlefield

death and steam surrounding me

when a little blonde girl

  in a blue sundress with white flowers

held my hand and led me out.

She didn't even pay attention to

the burned and wounded bodies-


or maybe she didn't understand.

Her place-

a field of flowers and horses

and butterflies as protectors.

The graveyard lingers in my head,

but she helps create new images.

This poem is about: 
My family


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