Title: The poppy still grows...
by Rachel | in writing, poetry
I cannot speak,
All you hear is the beat,
Another man falls,
Gas becomes his all,
The bombs fly overhead,
Soon we will all be dead,
Engulfed in death,
There is nothing left,
A tortured lad,
He has gone mad,
I feel the tears drip,
Along with the stinking sick,
Can you feel me?
Will you heal me?
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