C.A. Harris

He is the fallen soldier that lies as hurled,
That lays un-lifted now, come dew, come rest,
But still lies pointed with face in the dust,
Our eyes are open around the world.


When the grass was closely mowed,
Walking on the lawn alone,
In the turf a hole I found
Which hid a soldier underground.

In Flanders field the poppies blow,
Where the fallen soldier’s angles glow,
That marks their place in history,
The Blood and Tears remain a mystery

By Wyatt North

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