Where are the flowers fair?
Caught – in the wind a’blowing
Caught – in the summer’s glare
And withered so unknowing
Once where the wildflowers shone
In the light of a gentle morning
Now in the desert…gone
Save the bitterness of yearning
Who plucked the flowers fair?
Expert, the scythe applying
swift through the fetid air
And gathered them for dying
Now in the marble rooms
they wait through the lonely hours
Passed o’er for more vibrant blooms…
The fate of the poor Wallflowers
In memory of all those who have lost loved ones to the tragedy of war.
In response to Photo 101 prompt “Leading Lines”.