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

A living monument           In a ceaseless cycle of

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

Do us a final tribute           Stranger, friend; grandson,

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

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford. Written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff, new issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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