Grown in
such inhospitable ground
Petals of
pity trembling in battle’s breeze
Pity for
all that’s lost, for all in the grip of blind force
Pity for
every soul torn, for the weight of unrelenting remorse
Distressed
soil of forgotten fields your home
The earth
weeping the blood in which your seed is sown
Pick the
poppy, make its death your own
Wear it
close to your heart, walk on
But do
not look for peace
It is the
shoes on your feet
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