In a poppy field

They fill the land, beauty covering the

horrors that one man’s death had caused.

Like makeup on a scar they stand,

straight-backed and strong.


Stems; childlike bright.

Petals red as the raw hearts left broken and torn.

The sun drowns the land penetrating the

cracks of secrets hidden.


The wind tells the story of a fight once fought.

The voices of a thousand dead.


Amy Gowers