If I were a poet soldier...No wake for the day.
What is left but the ravaged land?
The holes in the walls--
I saw him cut down from the shrapnel.
How often I gazed out,
Knowing that the winking stars were dead:
Only balls of dying gas teasing me,
Making me think that he's watching me.
But he's not.
He's just a body
Fertilizing the poppied hills of Normandy.
Now I have to shade it and then I can send it to you. ^-^
I don't know how much I'll be able to get done on other pages this weekend, though. Just thought I'd let you know... -_-;;;
--
"Take your dying with some seriousness. However, laughing on the way to your execution is not generally
understood by lesser life forms : they'll call you crazy."
--
I've had better conversations with cheese.
--
"Take your dying with some seriousness. However, laughing on the way to your execution is not generally
understood by lesser life forms : they'll call you crazy."
--
I've had better conversations with cheese.
--
"Take your dying with some seriousness. However, laughing on the way to your execution is not generally
understood by lesser life forms : they'll call you crazy."
--
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