Sunday, 8 November 2009


The Cenotaph stands
For all those hands to reach
Back from the land of the dead
And receive our token red gestures.

The blood of foreign fields
Where ran and kneeled and fell
The keenest of all, who still do so in desert
States more distant where other poppies fester.

Shelter by the entity of this great
Shape and wait to place your blotted
Paper wreath in celebration and mourning,
And remember the loss of all our glorious ancestors.

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