A Flower
a poppy, a flower conscience red,
stands alone on a battle field,
petals frozen in dead-man's past:
and essence that echoes the names.
as the wind blows across no-mans-land
red hearts are numbed to pain,
a lightless man falls to the ground,
to crush the life from petals bled.
now all mens souls are buried here,
and their immortal stories told.
how a flower lost in soldiers bane,
is wilting light in natures game.
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