At the very back of the garden, there is an insect hotel. Each little space is designed for different types of insects. A sort of multi-cultural insect place that may not have chamber maids, but on the plus side has no tariffs to worry about.

Come autumn the spiders moved in and took over, occupying every room. The spiders must have thought that their lives were complete. A roof over their heads and no need to make webs anymore. At least they were safe from the birds. The people of Aleppo could do with being safe again.

Sevastopol, Hiroshima, Dresden and now Aleppo,

Same went for Guernica, Leningrad and Sarajevo,

There’s always a pitiful reason given for the bomb and for the longbow,

Doesn’t matter what side you’re on, when innocents die it becomes a freak show,

Others claim there is a God but I can’t see how that’s so,

It’s pretty clear to me all there is, is an open pit grave at the end of the rainbow.

I’m not a poet, I’m just someone who writes lyrics and melody. The mindless, wicked forced delay in sorting out the situation in Aleppo is so bad. The history books show we have learnt nothing over the centuries. So, sick and for what it’s worth I thought I’d write about it. Not that it helps anyone.

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