by Simon Norris

For your tomorrow        We offered up our own.

We lay ourselves down                  Under a torn quilt
of poppies                Across the rift of war.

We let you walk upon our backs          To peace.

We caught the bullets       And shells
With our bodies.

A wall of resolve        And flesh and blood.

The poppies                Wither and die          And grow
anew.

A living monument           In a ceaseless cycle of
mourning

But we fade           To no more than                  Empty
names on cold granite

Do us a final tribute           Stranger, friend; grandson,
niece.

Remember us.                    Carry that fallen
torch,             Dropped but not dead.