Dear Family,

Here's a poem I tot up while doodling in class.

A trip through the Afghan street

The wheel rolls through the Afghan street,
Past the boy with the blood matted hair,
Past the old woman with face tear streaked.

The wheel rolls on nonetheless,
Under a sky so fair.
Fatigued men gazed at it,
Thinking of loved ones less,
than the sights of bloody meat.

The wheel rolls through the Afghan street,
Past the mop of red hair,
Still now, letting the dusty street eat- the bloody meat.

Rion