Lest we remember...
In Afghan fields the poppies blow
Between the landmines, row on row,
To our disgrace; and while we lie
Unsung, a child is getting high,
The harvest of these fields of woe.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We wept, felt pain, engaged some foe,
Fought, and were fought, we knew not why,
In Afghan fields.
Put down your quarrel with the foe;
On all Morphia may bestow
Her boon, a painless last good-bye.
Though still ye be afraid to die,
Ye shall but sleep, since poppies gr…
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Posted on November 5, 2009 at 10:55pm —
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