Loss of Innocence - Flanders Fields

A duck slowly paddles across the still water, Disturbing the reflection of brooding storm clouds Above. The pond sits close to the top of the ridge; Precisely round, there are no streams entering or Leaving to explain its presence. Cold wind keens Through the mis-shapen trees nearby; the thin sound Is haunting, a threnody played by a distant piper. A gust catches the loose board on a ruined farmhouse, The sudden bang provoking a startled shiver. Splashing rain against the cheek awakens dormant Memories, and the landscape turns barren, a Wasteland, the pond revealed as a smoking crater. Vision clears. In the distance, a red poppy marks Where the defiant piper fell, his lament for himself.