poetic irony

the smell of grass fills the air. the soothing sound of insects flying back and forth resounds in his ears. a cool wind stirs. sweat drips down his nose. a white butterfly flaps happily across his view. machine gun fire in the distance. vibrations from granades shake the ground. and with the last word, gun fire roars across such sweet serenity. the smell of gunpowder fills the air and each shot almost deafens the ears. and that one idiot IAs.