The year is 1918
and women sit by their
abandoned hearths
waiting for their boys
to return in a parade
of banners and splendour:
red white and blue
but in the flames
they cannot help but see sorrow
in swirls of grey;
ashen faces accustomed
to the smell and taste of death
boys who became men
lost in the land made for no man.
Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020
Poignant, especially considering pandemics much less wars.
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Very true Barbara, very true 💛
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