War ensues.
Battles on both sides.
People trip over the wild weed,
hiding,
under the majesty of a giant tree.
She's in the way of the battle.
She blames herself for rooting there,
instead of despising the battle.
She's ugly.
She's small.
But most importantly,
She's tough.
An injured warrior tumbles to the weed,
seeking solace in her thin,
but passionate arms.
One moment of bliss...
and back to battle.
Dead bodies tumble around the weed,
their hands reached out towards her,
in a last plea of help.
She kneels down,
takes their open hands,
and cries.
She cries for the one's she couldn't save.
She cries for the other's she know will perish.