Fields of Red Flowers
Stand among the bloodshed petals,
Close your eyes, your mind, and pause.
Bare your palm, curl back your fingers,
Feel my phantom hand in yours.
Miles of stone, a landscape laced,
We’ll carve our own, white row on row.
They fell in war as I, in love,
Have fallen, so the poppies grow.
Copyright © Annabelle Jane | Year Posted 2018
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