Once crimson poppies bloomed
out
in a foreign field,
each
memory reminds
where
brutal death was sealed.
The
crimson petals flutter down,
still
hatred forms a thorny crown.
For in this present time
we
wait in vain for peace,
each
generation cries,
each
longing for release,
while
war still plagues the human race
and
families seek a hiding place.
How long will human life
suffer
for human greed?
How
long must race or pride,
wealth,
nationhood or creed
be
reasons justifying death
to
suffocate a nation's breath?
For everyone who dies
we
share a quiet grief,
the
pain of loss remains,
time
rarely brings relief,
and
so we will remember them
and
heaven sound a loud amen.
© Andrew Pratt
15/10/2012 Pleas include on your CCL return
andrewpratt@btconnect.com
Tune:
LITTLE CORNARD
PLEASE INCLUDE ON YOUR CCL RETURN
