PrintMarch 23, 2007
Flanders Field again and again (a poem)
Tis the morning sun
invites the poppies to grow
in Flanders Field
on row by row
this a poor substitute
I'm afraid
each plot is marked with our unknown
souls
each footrest a mother's heart
we lie there still
as the poppies and dogwood grow
each numbered headstone
is a history onto itself
for our youths were cut short
by gunfire and politicians
the reaper's gift
to us row by row
tis requiem we cannot comprehend
whose valor does not pretend
all who think of us now
row upon immortal row.
