Echoes for a War Requiem

I think sometimes of the life there once was: Of a time when birds sang throughout the woods And insects flitted between the flowers. But when greedy hands infected the land, The beauty was ruined; life lost its home— And the gentle calls of sparrows and swifts Were quickly replaced with thundering guns Foxes found their homes within dead bodies, And owls on the hunt flew above shellfire; Butterflies drank from the growing poppies, Tainted by the blood of the innocent, That grew like a plague sent to cleanse the land. In some places, only the dead remained, Strewn about randomly and carelessly— Lying like dolls on a child’s playroom floor; Never even given a proper grave. With patience, they wait to be discovered— To be welcomed home by beloved arms; But, within all their rosy dreams of home, Hides the truth they have known for far too long: They remained forgotten; their names are dead. Out of anguish for all those who were killed, Nature returned to reclaim its power.