the great Hush

The Great Hush.

It’s gone all quiet here, the people who sang
and the man who spoke, couldn’t catch what
he said, have all gone home or to a café for
lunch. Someone is digging in the soil.
stands to reason, it is spring, planting time.
in the poppy field, that shimmers unearthly
crimson at evening time. A great battle raged
and when the last bullet were fired flowers,
grew, en masse, to cover for the unspeakable
horror, caused by humankind; collectors can
still find rusty buttons of so they can tell us
which army fought whom? It’s so quite here
I can hear mother’ tears, of silent resignation,
the day my father left home.