Here me well,
For the tides will tell,
What has transpired here.
Their crimson crests,
once white,
Now kiss the trodden shore.
Across the sands,
Man does lay,
Liike so many shattered seashells.
Wrapped in barbed wire,
laid to bare, not beneath,
A cross painted white.
But on the sands,
On the sands they lay,
Beneath a cross of driftwood,
Where no poppy shall grow.
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A/N this poems was selected to be published in my University Literary Journal. I hope you enjoyed it :)
