Landscapes Bleak
Continued
while.....
Blood red seeps through the haze
like a myriad of droplets spilt,
beside old rusty cannons
where saturated petals wilt,
Dotted among the mossy ruins
where once our home was built,
returned to in a barren spring
to dwell in our nations guilt,
as we sing.....
"March to the left,
march to the right,
march through the day
and into the night,
And when you tire,
weep or fall,
more will march
to your bugle call"
because.....
The ghosts of fallen soldiers
cry for victories they abhor,
their tears of summers glory
were wept on a foreign shore,
We kiss those autumn teardrops
as we march 'cross fields of war,
to settle into landscapes bleak
where our heroes are no more,
singing.....
"Tread the soil softly,
place a bouquet
upon these lands
where infantry lay,
In war they fell,
in peace they'll speak
of poppies in the fog
in landscapes bleak"
Robert Horton