Remember the first photograph
before the cool of summer was spent,
the drench of rainwater presided.
A woman  scorned,
past lovers travail,
come on here's a message in my head,
so we can plant the beating of your heart,
and watch the fields turn green,
wake with pride,
to the banality of bullfrogs shouting,
whilst the war goes on.
With an optic view of a grave,
howling with  blood.