Our tears came like drops of blood
when in that garden of destruction
men died in trenches and the mud.
The Somme was void of living,
towns laid waste, homes wrecked,
people empty.

In the rubble of humanity we hid our seed,
our flowers the grave-markers of friend and foe:
a bitter proclamation of a conflict that needs remembering.
Blood red poppies – stained with futility.

But there is more.

Long ago, on a far away hill,
blood drenched the ground where a young warrior
offered up not myriad victims, but himself.
From a wooden cross, his death became his weapon.
Red – the colour of blood and of love –
transforming hatred and pointlessness
into peace and meaning.

Blood red poppies – we are heraldic flowers;
calling all to a new way,
a way of re-membering:
of piecing together all that is good,
peaceful and true.

A resurrected sign of God’s love.

[Mr G 14^th July 2023]

Inspired by a visit to the Somme and working alongside the Royal British Legion.
Dedicated to the people of Ukraine.