The Poppy Doves
Out of the smoke and dust there came, a flight of birds
To rest upon a fateful perch of guns
Doves they were, in white and in peace
With poppies in their beaks, to spread a thousand seeds
A thousand seeds per dove
In peace they flew around
To shake and sprinkle, remembrance all around
Now In every field there is, a poppy for those that fell
A poppy there for every man that died there in that hell
Copyright © Matthew Plant | Year Posted 2014
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