A new take on an old Canadian War Poem:

In Afghan’s fields the poppies blow

between the landmines row on row

that mark Death’s place,

and in the sky

the unmanned drones bravely buzzing fly

scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead.

Short days ago we lived felt dawn saw sunset glow

loved and were loved, and now we lie

in Afghan’s fields.

Take up our quarrel with which foe?
To drug lords whose flailing hands we
at tribal weddings throw
the torch ; what Rights do we hold high?


As we break faith with those who die

shall we not sleep,

while poppies grow

in Afghan’s fields ?

Letting Us Forget