The early morning mist drifts silently across 
the freshly ploughed and seeded fields, 
from one ridge to the next hopping birds
are seeking their routine day-break feast.

Along the lane pressed in tarmac the carrion
is being picked apart by hungry crows 
who also keep a watchful eye 
for speeding traffic and hunting foxes.

The dawns early sunshine starts slowly 
burning away the mist and in nearby fields 
the blood red poppies awake and stand tall
on their green and strong supporting stems...

but in these green fields of times long past
the mist was smoke and gas, the furrows
craters, the seeds were shells and the crows
were rats as big as cats and the carrion was 
the Johns, the Daves, the Jims and Jacks...