The Crimson Poppies
In Flanders Field (all battlefields),
The crimson poppies spread
As young men taken to a war
Gave up their blood and bled.
For one man’s lust for power fed
Their bodies to a war.
Another’s land lust also led
The young to bleed still more.
Like rivers, from their flesh it flowed,
Their lives not marked by sand
That slipped out of their hourglass –
But blood upon the land.
In Flanders Field, the blood has dried;
The veins are cold, no flow.
And in the place of dreams and lives,
The crimson poppies grow.
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photo by Dan Shirley at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oeAO1C0/Poppies
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.
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