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In a field of Poppies
Let down the bars, O death!
The tired flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat,
Whose wandering is done.
Thine is the stillest night,
Thine is the securest fold;
Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.
(Emily Dickinson)
~
The guns chattered and raged, clicking madly; destroying the fields of Poppies
As each man scrambled, screaming; as each child died, dreaming
Of Mothers and Fathers, Sisters and Brothers,
They fell on the ancient earth,
In a field of Poppies,
Dead and alone.
The shells exploded and destroyed,
That field of Poppies
As stinking flesh and human remains
Overpowered the scent of Poppies,
And people died,
In that field of Poppies
And guns rattled and raged
In that field of Poppies,
As Mother Nature wept
In that field of Poppies
For the dead and the injured,
The heroes of time
As the Nation wept
For the field of poppies,
And the dead and gone;
Screaming men and dreaming boys,
The heroes of time,
Who fell in the field of Poppies
Through the dead and decayed,
The field of Poppies grew,
Through years of grieving,
And disbelieving,
As the air was reclaimed by birds who flew,
And through the laughter of the dead
And the relief
Of an end
A new life bloomed,
In that field of Poppies
And death was no more
Silence took hold.
Fin.
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