I Don’t Own a Poppy Field

There are no flowers
in the dry ground.
Fruits of joy and love
were lost in the heat,
Shrivelled by anger
and the following tears.

There are no flowers
in the dry ground.
Picked, now they lay
dead with last week’s papers,
Forgotten now that
other news has come.

There are no flowers
in the dry ground.
Their beauty’s lustre
left without charm,
Swept clear between
dusty winds and cool breath.

There are no flowers
in the dry ground.

i don't own a poppy field

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