High above the smoldering ash, the morning Dove looks on.
The carnage of a battle field in the early light of dawn.
The battle of the earlier day, raged long into the night.
While signs of armies once engaged, now hidden out of sight.
It was a battle both would claim, was waged for what was right.
It was a fight that both would say, was fought with righteous might.
This was a war of differences, in values and of men.
Both sides said they’re way was right and neither one would bend.
Still the Morning Dove was heard to cry above the reddened plains.
“How different can these brothers be, when their blood stains all the same?”
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