The Little White Flowers
Pine
trees whisper to each other across a
meadow
of tiny, white, star-shaped flowers,
gently
bending in the breeze. Troops mass;
phalanxes
face each other, their weapons
at
the ready. They trounce the flowers into
turbid
slush, to draw lines with young blood.
(There
are more artistic ways to draw bright
lines,
but we never taught them.) A new
government
has sprouted in the blood bled
by
these men. We today set their tombstones
tall
in eternal marble to honor their blood
sacrifice,
decanted on this field of glory. We
shall
never forget these brave men, whose names
begin
from A to Z, and their ultimate sacrifice.
Let
us not forget, on this grassy mall this glorious
bright,
blue spring day, how much we owe them.
The
green lives. The life force still reigns supreme.
And
the blood in this soil is crying in the whispering
pines,
bring back to us the little, white flowers. Bring
back
those little, white flowers, swaying in the breeze.
G.
Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, is Emeritus Professor, Ashford University,
Clinton, Iowa. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along
the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back
pocket, weather permitting. His books include Long Dark River Casino, and Redbird
Prof: Poems Of A Normal U,
1969-1981. He has published poems in a wide array of
journals.
Dear Louis,
ReplyDeleteI not only enjoyed reading this poem as it stands but am moved by its haunting message as well.
Blessings and thank you for this poem.
Michael
A gem of a poem. Well composed with a message .
ReplyDeleteThe title that caught my eye led to much mor serious things, which reading, I enjoyed. The message is supurb.
ReplyDeleteYancy