A wind ran right over me and climbed through a window,
says Rock. No more windows for me. I’m retired.
In peacetime, I can be someone’s pet.  

They brushed their battle plans off me, says Paper,
and wrote a treaty on that clean slate.
Fold me into an airplane. I feel so free.  

From now on, I will cut only ribbons,
says Scissors. The war, unlike me,
never did have a point.