Agnes Owens’ Where Poppies Bloom

Where Poppies Bloom

Beneath me the earth is cold
And cruel with jutting jagged stones
Seeped in blood from my gaping wounds,
My life is ebbing fast.

I see the stretcher bearers pass,
they do not hear my cries for help
am I condemned to die on this
land where birds don’t fly
or sing their song,
surrounded by dead flesh and bones
a meal for the carrion crows.

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But as I lie and long for death
angels revive me with their breath,
the stretcher bearers have returned
to heal my wounds and send me home.

Although I’ve lived
to tell this tale it’s not
been easy and to no avail for
I have squandered everything I’ve owned,
for drink and cards I have sold my soul
and often wished just like my friends
that I’d died with them on foreign fields
where poppies bloom and wave their head
as they dance beside the longtime dead,
each one a hero though unsung
God make my ashes into dung
so that I became with them as one,
where poppies bloom

Agnes Owens

Agnes Owens’ father lost a leg during the Battle of the Somme

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