By brian francis
When battle’s rage rends the sod
In the harvest of souls called war
The seeds of poppies touched by sun
Bloom there in war’s tortured loam
When rockets scream across the sky
And mortars are punt to reach on high
Falling on the enemy troops bringing death
And sprouting orderly white stones
Today those fields are green and fresh
Where the soldiers lay side by side
The pleasant sweet gentle breezes
Lift the flags waving in the sky
Row after row after orderly row
Soldiers lie in repose beneath the stones
Still pridefully groomed one hundred years on
Devotion still honors this place
Sacrifice rings a long pealing bell
And the locals all remember its tone
So they care for this place exceedingly well
Remembering when they stood – not alone
Author’s Note: Ypres reservoir cemetery “flanders fields”
Copyright © 2020 brian francis
Wordsmith: At The Forge 