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Comments about James Sinclair
A Elegy For The Poppies In Flanders Fields
Death has marked this holy place
With stains as black as night.
Woe has crept across the stars and plucked them out of sight
Colours fade into grey and love has lost its spell
The grave stone reads in poppy fields, this is where they fell.
A forgotten face in a solitary place no happiness doth dwell there
The hills are swarmed in crimson plants, monument to their despair.