Violets bloom
Roses drip a red scented fume
Poppy's fire into the night
As green face painted men shoot their blight,
And their enemy's try to fight back with all there might
Wolves cry for a feast tonight!
Dead whisper among themselves
Like toy soldiers they are stacked into a box
Then locked
And put in rows of twelve
Waiting to be claimed
Waiting to identified
Waiting to be buried
Along with there other green face painted men
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