Life from city to village

By Gibbsangie

Poppies in the rain

The crying sky scatters its grief
beside the blood red poppies
Weeping out songs to the doomed youth
of days past, on the slatted bench
where the youth of today smiling
brag about their hidden shouldered
guns.
Doomed youth upon doomed youth upon...
A bench. Just a bench. Just a bench.
Do we sit long enough to learn?

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