O Flankers
O Flankers, your children far and wide
Stands at the zenith of their faith to take
Their prize, bereft of heritage and pride
Your blood stain shards making them shake
I was Hiroshima, you were the bomb
Your explosion devastated me
It was not predicted for to become
Such a callous and cold humanity
I think of you, but cannot merge you
Now with that you thirty years gone
Growing old is not better then, not true
You are the antediluvian dawn.
This wickedness in you is a fallen curse
And yet my love cannot abandon you
The cordite power make trees into hearse
And people into things strange to view
What material greed infected your dream
What disconnected social order reared
What dead mythic made dross of the gleam
You who once loved, laughed and cared?
O Flankers, my village nestled in the hills
Beside the frolic of a nurturing sea
The sands were tranquil, and now it kills
The very fragrance of sweet innocency.
I want my fruited forest of peace again
I want the dancing waves of soft laughing seas
I want a place where thrives the love of men
The faith to die praying for peace on bended knees
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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