The Bomb Poem by Bryan Sefton

When that sinister canister shape is loosed
With a simple finger to button move
And the air is rent with a searing flash
With a voice like thunder loud and long
And bodies are blasted, bodies are burned
Freind, relation, mother and child
The cries of pain are the winds descent
No one to whisper reassuring words
The cows milk threatens in the cup of tea
The flesh a canker waiting to erupt
Victims queing, you and me
Wait in line for healing cup
When no grass grows and no birds fly
Then, will they unsatisfied?