*_THE WHISPERING WINDS OF MEMORIES.....*_


Could I have said?
That it was that monotonous rhythm that alerted us of the raid?
The raid to our freedom whilst opponents were still on parade?
So we could run with only a spade,
For self defense, till we finally trode tired, deliquently, as our weapon turned into a sharp blade,
But our hearts a blunt blade.
No longer that precious green Jade, but a toy that they had to degrade,
So like a cade, we bade,
Our lives before war goodbye before we...