HUSH:

HUSH,

It is merely the old whisper, of the son I once had,

The ripple of red poppies, that makes me feel so sad,

The drone of rusted planes, now forgotten in the past,

The silence upon the prayer is the only thing that lasts.

 

HUSH,

It is merely sod of earth, shifting with sobs, & heaving,

Crimson fields of poppies, bowing softly in their breathing,

Winds of time, now rustling the leaves of memories gone,

All heroes of our nations, their voices, lost within our song.

 

HUSH,

It is merely echoing of boots, within the muddy trenches,

The lost smiles loitering & within our hearts, entrenches,

The voices of young men, then, so far-away from home,

The sons of all those mothers, now left here all alone.