The turn of turf no longer seen
In a wilderness so vibrant green
No hand to tend the rusting plough
No seed to sow no tending vow
No weeds to cut no vine to break
No labouring with muscle ache
No sweat to shed no curse to make
No controlling hand to partake
Yet the flowers show their heads
wildlife content is still well fed
From canopy to forest floor
From bright sunlight to fungal spore
Nature claimed where armies failed
The poppy fields of Passchendaele
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment