Wars End

• Ebony Chisholm
• Poetry
• 2012

Bang the last shot rang out, scielnce drops through out the field. Poppy's stained blood red. Forget them we shant as their memory lives on, our pain of their death and their love for our hope. Running trough a field with a weapon to their throat. We live on through age as they don't worry. We speak their name as we cry for their courage. Although we live for the sacrafice they put forth, their death is shall be morned. So we thank and we pray their up there with god. As proud as us about what they did it for.