They say that wars are won at night and that the morning brings glory, but I believe this is all utter nonsense.

There is no morning glory if the breathless bodies are still on the battle field. 

While they are all celebrating winning a fight that was not theirs, but those who have the power - and I do not mean brute power, I mean monetarily power. 

When I arrive at the now filled with soulless bodies battle field, I find a young girl there.  She was planting morning glory flowers at the edge of that cursed field, that brought nothing but blood shed. 

I kneel next to her and ask:

"Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm nearly finished. This is my last one, see?" is the reply I got, she quickly added, to be polite, I persume, "But thank you for offering."
She was wearing a black dress and her eyes were red.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Your father?" I asked.

"No," the girl tried to say without crying, "I haven't got one. He left when I was just a babe. My brother. He asked me to plant morning glories if they won and they did. But he's dead. I found his body right over there." she pointed to a piece of the grass not so far away, though the grass wasn't green anymore, it was red. "Some nice women who tried to find their husbands helped me get him to church. We'll bury him in two days." She added, barely holding her tears in. She looked young, ten, maybe twelve. Not old enough to fend for herself in this world with men who'd do anything to destroy everything delicate. I persume she at least still has her mother. 

"In 4, I'll have to be wed." And a tear fell on her cheek. "The banker's son decided he'd take me. Though I'm surprised he'd take a poor orphan."

Ah, and there it goes: more misfortune for this young girl, more heartache and sorrow the war has brought amongst innocent souls. 

"I heard he's a good lad, the banker's son. I hope you'll be happy." I say trying to ease her pain, even if I didn't fully believe it, and show her that can be fortune even in misfortune. 

"Maybe," she said as she got up, "goodbye, Madam. I must prepare."

"Adieu!" I bid her.

I look at the blood soaked field, at the bodies that have yet to be claimed and I wonder... Why do innocent souls have to end up this way just to settle scores between those who have sinned. Those whose powers are far greater than a sword or a riffle - their power is richness. 

And greed, oh, they are full of it. 

They would not stop until everyone would sit before them, down on all fours, praising whatever fake positive character traits they, the rich folk, wants to believe they have. 

I take in all the gruesome details in to pass them all on, to show these brainwashed people that there is actually no morning glory, but the aftermath of a war. 

Blood, death, and mourning.

This belief that a war's been won, that we are on the right side of the history is completely false. 

History is written by the winners. How noble (or not) the intentions of the losers may have been, they will be forever erased because, we, as mere humans, want to sort everything into two categories: good and bad. We fail to understand that we are also shades of grey;.

I sit with these thoughts as the sun sinks, the moon rises, and the cheers from the town get louder and louder.

When it finally gets too dark, I leave, passing by the cheerful tavern.