Flanders Field Revisited

Flanders Field Revisited
   (for the Armistice Centenray, Nov 11, 2018)

On Flanders field the poet saw 
  Crimson sunspots flashing in his shell-shocked awe
Over the shallow graves of no-man’s land,
  Flowers grown by death’s own hand,
Plowed and tilled by the Kaiser’s huns,
  Batteries of allied guns, 
Up they rose from the blood churned ground,
  Poppies red as bullet wounds

Before the advancing fronts of Spring
  Above the fire steps there cling, poppies,
Outnumbering the dead who’s tally
  Too few big push Generals knew,
That we may lay lost soldiers
  Dead to sleep,
Come poppies, lay torn lads
  To sleep

For all war weary, who abide,
  From Eden’s garden is supplied, the 
Modern balm from Gilead,
  A respite for beloveds who grieve 
For soldiers of all wars,
  The same,
We offer poppies
  In their name