Death To Flowers

Death to Flowers

Green, in bloom;
Lined in garden rows;
Sweet their fragrance,
Barely have they bud;
So worthy of freshest life,
March these Flowers.

Cut down for this cause;
Cause of some futile moment.
Death, in the field,
Sun dries their fading glory.
Dreams wither, wasted,
For this word ‘glory’, beauty taken.
Soon to push flowers.

March the Flowers;
And with flowers resting at their feet.
We send new Flowers.
Endless rows to discard.
To the ground we send them.
Where all the Flowers have gone.

-Arel
(Regarding the 2nd Iraqi War)

by Russ von Ohlhausen

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