…the empty bench
Like poppies
crumpled in the bud
as their blooming ends
the fallen rest
in beds of vivid red
dying under empty skies
their blood soaked
into unfamiliar soil
their colours lost
but not their memories
they sleep eternal
ever silent
but this earthly cloister
is forever haunted
by the flickering flame
of remembrance
these devastated fields
this sacrifice
all that has been lost
the dark settles deep within
yet the past is not defeated
for there is still the empty bench
© Ann Bagnall 2015
