Is it some coincidence that today I write
With red words on a black screen?
Blood red, you might say,
Poppy red, I would reply, those flowers
That speak of pain and sacrifice
And above all an ended life.
Is it some coincidence that my words
Tell the tale of one who lies dying?
A soldier she is not,
But caught in a war and injured
By men like animals who feel no love,
And above all feel no remorse.
Is it some coincidence that I choose today
To stay behind and hear the trumpets call?
A sad song, you might say,
And I would tell you that it is beautiful
And filled with love and pain and hate
And above all, makes me cry.