There used to be grass here
Flowers, hedgerows, stands of tree,
Seasonal birdsong, flitting insects,
Busy buzzing wild pollinating bees,
And then they turned it
Into a sea of churned mud
Sown with heroes bones
Fertilised with heroes blood,
For four long weary years fought
Over this battered bruised ground,
Silent then but for war's
Deadly raucous sound.
With the peace this land recovered,
Clothed in green and scarlet red,
A lushness that maybe sprang
From years of being so well fed,
Part of it now covered by
Gleaming white teeth
Like a growth sprung from
The bones buried underneath.
Fields of tombstones dressed
For that eternal parade
Long white rows and columns
Mute reminder of sacrifice made.
Flowers grow again
Trees back in their stands
Birds and bees again reign
Over once bruised lands.
