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

The Oriel College Student Newspaper. Run by students, with contributions from the JCR, MCR, SCR, Staff. Current Executive Editors: Monim Wains and Martin Yip

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