The canons have thrust their last fusillade <br /> And the snapping sounds of rifles have abated <br /> After dispatching their lethal messages. <br /> Bodies, still strewn in their grotesque forms, <br /> Profane the earth where once pristine fields <br /> Flattered the eye to the far horizon. <br /> Now a deathly silence falls heavy here <br /> Upon a ghastly sight too often seen, <br /> Repeated ceaselessly from ancient times. <br /> In the silence of this numbing sight, <br /> We can hear the pleading echoes across time: <br /> Why? We were all of us flowers plucked too soon.<br /><br />H. Nelson Fitton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flowers-plucked-too-soon/
