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(5/01/97 THURSDAY)

The golden flower field where
my father died. Land where
the battles raged. To think
that such a beautiful field
would have witnessed such
death. The land now is stained
with the blood of many. For I
won't loose the blood of any
more on this ground. Long
ago only blue skies shown
over the earth but now smoke
and death arise. We once
believed in something
other than our petty
differences but we won't
turn around now.