In Flanders field the mothers stand among the gravestones, hand in hand,
Reflecting the life that they had planned, as tears drop on foreign land.
And wishing every shot and shell banished to the pits of hell
That man could see the carnage wrought when prejudice and hatreds taught
In Flanders field the poppies bow, beneath the broken, who somehow
Must carry on and live a life, marked by greatest sacrifice.
They leave their petals, blood red tears, fulfilment of their deepest fears
And play again within their hearts that day that tore their lives apart.
In Flanders field the mother stand among the gravestones, hand in hand,
Reflecting a life that they had planned, as tears drop on foreign land.
And wishing every shot and shell banished to the pits of hell
That man could see the carnage wrought when prejudice and hatreds taught
P E Yates 2014
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Author:
flossy (
Offline) - Published: November 10th, 2017 05:40
- Comment from author about the poem: As a mother of two son's I often reflected on the loss the mothers felt when told of their son's death and their thoughts on the lives they had hoped for their children. I wrote this in 2014 the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of the Great War.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments2
Good write and tribute to all mothers who have lost their sons (and daughters) in wars.
A fine write and tribute
flossy. If in 6 line stanzas, it almost fits to the hymn 'I vow to thee my country'.
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