https://www.whitehelmets.org/


Dusted by the fallout,
now grit-showered,
the weight of white
on their protection,
on their masked faces,
still ringing in the ears
of their hearing,
hours after digging,
each child-cried to find:
A short limb of victory,
as they fight war’s
finger-choke:
They wage their own,
without weapons,
but pictures.

https://www.whitehelmets.org/


 

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