No More Roses
Note: this is not lovey dovey and a bit gloomy really. A sad political valentine.
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Note: this is not lovey dovey and a bit gloomy really. A sad political valentine.
Back on the graveyard shift, Oxford's finest, Trying to find a good place to spend, Half an hour, maybe the whole night.
Today we will remember those who gave their lives for us and our country. At 11am we fell silent for one minute to respect and remember every single person who died fighting.
#remberance I can still remember It was in a bleak November, When the heater was but an ember. We sat on the carpet floor. It was school at it was raining.
I sit in the memory of Tom, Watching bagpipes and drums, I hear his voice above the crowd, Shooing off a wayward cloud, I remember for him, Sitting in the silent din, Imagining as bombs rained...
Vibrant crimson heads, Hidden amongst the grass, Shielded from the wind, Waiting for the storm to pass.
On a night in November for sixty-odd years An old man would come and order two beers He'd only drink one, left the other alone Then he'd quietly leave and make his way home The barman was watching,...
I do now know who you are, but I know just how you died. Awash with crimson boyhood blood a heart that never cried. A name that's long forgotten a stone I view each year.