Poppies in Profusion on the proud chests of the Brave
Old and aging survivors, of a time when things were Grave
Stones on a hillside, edelweiss under Moon
Light on a bomber’s wing carrying canisters of doom.
White hot flames of children, screaming
Blue murder in the darkness, instead of dreaming.
Nightmares manifest in visions real, or of pretence
Starving,...
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