The house was my seventh brother

I want a clear enemy suitable for cursing and cursing, soldiers whose return we can cheer for, defeated or victorious, martyrs without victims, an anthem, and a memorial. I want a place in the heart of the nation where I can hang a memorial picture of a family that did not escape death, and I leave the task of hanging the medals of honor on the chest of the tyrant to the war. I want a war that resembles a war, and an enemy that is the enemy, without the mask of the clay of this land, and a poem that I write in praise of the fighter, not in satire of the gun! I want to write the grass, the grass that will grow on the iron of the cannons!