A warm wind blows
Across the sands.
It caresses the skin
And ruffles the clothes.

The smell of death
Taints this wind.
The dust of crumbled bone
Is carried within,
And long-dried blood,
An unmistakable scent.

Voices are woven
Into this current of air.
Cries of victory,
And tears of loss
Are whispered in its passing;
Shreds of past exaltation,
But also soul-breaking anguish.

These are the winds of war.
They blow always in this place,
Reminders of what once was,
And the destruction it wrought
On lands and men.