ramblings and things

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We buy Poppys these days to,



In passing, respect our lost.



The Flanders red reflecting,



The shed blood of conflict’s cost.



Does anything really change.



 



Carrion crows walk through wounded



To leisurely pull flesh from the dead



Wings flap and smack as they dispute



Territorial rights, as with bowed heads



Riderless horses wait to be gathered in,



Worth more than wounded lying around,



Friend and foe joined in death



On the blood stained battle ground.



 



Some wounded will crawl away



Maybe to be found and survive



But not many of those lying there



Will leave that field alive.



Today a battle was fought



A king’s crown won or lost



Little matter which to those 



Who paid war’s ultimate cost.



 



In the victors’ tents



The vanquished will arrive to treat,



Parlez to and fro



 Partaking of wine and meat,



As they scheme 



And plan ahead



Feeding, just like the carrion,



On pieces from the battle’s dead.



 



No Poppys in those days



No worry about the cost



Just the lives of lower orders



The major part of the lost.



Does anything really change.




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Cost Accounting