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POPPIES

TO ALL THOSE GONE

Of all the words here scribed in stone
of ancient or of pristine style
the sentiments span every age
the memories of tear and smile.
 
For they went forth all knowledgeful
into the jaws inclement, sharp,
with understanding of the gradient’s mask
and fell, to the sound of the Fathers harp.
 
Of all the memories here interred
of playful hours of lessons learned
the sacrifices, martyred too
national thanks so hard earned.
 
Winds blow, leaves fall
'tis the season of wasted mirth
lives and leaves are but the same
fodder for this insatiable earth.
 
I lay my acknowledgement beside
others who would know of grief
who, in their heart felt loss and pride
draw simple resolution brief.

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A nationalistic poem for those gone before.




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