POETRY RANT - FIELDS OF POPPIES



Poppies still grow, in Flanders Fields;
A crimson flow, in such great yield.

The flowers bleed along the silent rows;
For past youth, too young to know.

Warmth of love; and
the privilege of the old.

Learning to survive, with taunting horrors

Warding off their demons, feeling alone.

As comrades fade and pass away, 

 The weight of war seems to take its tow.

As those moments weigh heavily 

Eventually become too heavy to hold.

So, gather on this day, as a reunion of hope
Even though it's only a few, who truly know.

To the debt paid,

 by who we loved and still love.

As a Nation 
We wear the poppy

To b
lood spilt
On foreign lands, so far from home.

A soldier did not see conflict; but
Rather a call from a Nation.

Hoping to end all conflict; yet
Knowing that this is far from reality 

So, silent tears, under frail salutes 
To friends lost, Lest we forget.

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