POPPIES
In the stamens of red poppies
See the eyes of dead men marching,
See the glitz and glam of Empire,
All the swagger, stomp and strutting,
All the bugles, drums and bagpipes,
Swirling kilts and horses clipping,
Nostrils twitching smelling battle,
Hearing thunder from afar and,
While the smoke ascends and darkens,
Hungry, hawk-eyed vultures gather
Over fields disturbed by conflict
Where swathes of blood-red poppies grow.
Such a thought-provoking poem that brings so much to mind.
Thank you for sharing this Janet.
Thank you Mac for your kind comment
Very atmospheric, it moved me.
Thank you William for your kind comment.
Janet
Thank you William.