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The Flowers of the Field

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Fading flowers lie scattered on the ground Scythed down by deadly horizontal hail The long, short, and tall fall without a sound Relentless dawn’s bright light begins to fail As noxious clouds of gas the sun shroud round The fallen wait for help to no avail Their raw, tormented lungs gasping for breath The only worthwhile blessing now is death Blind heroes stumble forward towards hell Unseen enemies fire with lethal aim The crump of shells, the cordite’s acrid smell Red-hot shards of shrapnel slash flesh and maim Somewhere, a lost soul screams. It’s hard to tell If it’s friend or foe for all sound the same Whether in khaki brown or field grey serge In death, as not in life, their futures merge The war is over and we’ve won - but lost A generation with no chance to bloom Victory comes at far too high a cost Numberless in the Unknown Soldier’s tomb Bright tomorrows fade to black or lie crossed In long white rows that vanish in the gloom Such selfless sacrifice soothes our sorrow For they died to let us live tomorrow

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