Pop, pop went the balloons by guns,
the red ones that flew on by.
Sent by the distant hidden ones,
a message of war built to fly.
Warnings of coming clouds of smoke,
missiles, drones, bullets and death.
Foreign languages the message spoke,
we're bunkered down with bated breath.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 21st, 2026 12:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
A poem of anticipation of war. Well written
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