Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

A funeral a laugh, a sigh
What more when flightless birds soar by?
A parting kiss, a thought, a song
It’s rare for me to do such wrong
And when the dark sod slips I know
I’ll sink to drink. Find peace below.

Not many days upon this earth
We’ve suffered loss; and now the dearth
Of simple thoughts and shadowed smiles
The sharp knife somehow seems worthwhile
In all the things to bring us close
It is your breath I miss the most

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Sat on this log, your chest on mine
Head on shoulder, heat divine
You asked a question,
I answered ‘No
There is little left for us
In Flanders Fields.’

Hand on chest and silken sigh
Twisted tastes and burnished thigh
A salty cock, a candied tongue
One night with you left me unstrung
You left me then
And I escaped
To Flanders Fields

My father brought your body home
A paladin, a knight alone
He struck the cross, and racked the blade
Bloodless, lost your body stayed
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.