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.