A Blooming Shame

Still fields of scarlet poppies blow
on long abandoned battle fields.
The bones of dead men hid below
will feed their roots increasing yields.

The few survivors are now all dead.
Rejoined the comrades that they knew.
So we remember in their stead.
The many who salute the few.

Now Patch is dead he was the last
veteran who survived the war
A living relic from the past
who lived a hundred years and more.

There’s no one left who can recall
the muddy trenches and the gas.
The pain of seeing comrades fall.
He watched the long years slowly pass.

He never sought publicity.
He was a very private man
but became a celebrity
The last surviving veteran.

Each year the scarlet poppies grow
On Flanders Fields abundantly
The countless dead who lie below
Have earned their place in history.

By foolish useless sacrifice
They gave their lives to end all war
I think they paid to high a price.
The world is as it was before.

Men are still killing other men
but now much more efficiently
Each year we fail to learn again
the lessons taught by history.

There are no winners in a war.
There never was nor will there be.
But men will fight for evermore.
It’s human nature seemingly.