Sun shines in as he works away,

It’s Wednesday at work, weekend miles away.

Laughing, talking, just being me,

He stops, he stares, at the bumble bee.

To all around, just another insect,

No need to stop, admire or inspect.

To him it is more than a single thing,

It is fear, despair at the memories it brings.

It makes him think of a foreign place,

Where warring friends were face to face

One day their children, together playing in the street,

Next day one son dead, at the other son�s feet.

Sent in to watch, to keep the peace,

In reality, were all just well armed police,

Held back by red tape, by rules not our own

Watched children lost, never to have grown.

Crimes seen daily, and reported as such,

The people that should care, never cared that much

Given drink and food by a friendly face,

To be killed for that reason, in the very same place.

He laughed as he talked in his foreign tongue,

Telling the interp�, his family have done no wrong

Digs in his pocket to flatten wild hair

Smiles with content and waits with us there

“Outlive this war” “is what we will do”

To the very end, we will see it through

Pride as he shows, his growing grand daughter,

No idea of what comes, the following slaughter.

Three days have passed, one more objective complete

Sitting cramped in the vehicle, resting sore feet,

Remembers old man with his warm, warn out face,

Two miles away from the first meeting place.

Seeing all the generations, of one family gone,

“It’s our peacekeeping role” it feels like a con,

Smelling death all around, in a once lively home,

Finding watches, glasses and then the old boys comb.

Empty inside, that nothing was saved,

Anger at how “soldiers”, have behaved,

Down on both knees, still failing to see,

Flies past, with a buzz, a small Bumble Bee