Poppies from a German daughter
I buy three red poppies:
One for the blood of my German father
that reddened the ruins of Monte Cassino
One for the drops of sweat and youth
left trailing on the Kokoda
by my Australian husband
and
One
for the Unknown Soldier
...But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
and the sound of a voice that is still...
(Tennyson)
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