War graves inspire poem

Proud Ernest Parkin holding the War Poem his Grandaughter wrote when she was 13 years old  (w111025-5a)

Proud Ernest Parkin holding the War Poem his Grandaughter wrote when she was 13 years old (w111025-5a)

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Katie’s poem:

A field of dead, here lie slain, Pray no soul knows this again.

Death rains down from all around, The chaos merges to a single sound, An orchestra of sin composing pain, The sound of death makes you go insane.

A drumbeat pounding through my chest, Don’t stop, fight harder, no time for rest, United we are, cowering before the foe, Hoping, praying for the final blow. Why? I ask, what are we fighting for? Long ago forgotten, the point of this war. No-one flinches as the bullets fly forward, Life is a punishment, death is a reward. Heed our warning, listen to what we say, We don’t need war, it’s not worth the price we pay, I look across the place of such strife, There is no place here, no place for life. When in the wind one thing stands tall, A beacon of hope in the destruction of it all, A poppy grows as red as blood, Born from out the ghastly mud. A field of dead, here lie slain, Pray no soul knows this again.