Thomas Henry Reynolds
Diana - Poem by Thomas Henry Reynolds
Obscene the landmine lies in wait the child's small foot to find
to trigger off the deadly blast, to kill to maim, to blind.
The woman tends her crop but bitter is the yield that blossoms forth
in crimson flame from ordnance concealed.
The seeds of death lie in the soil where peasant guides his plow.
The death lit grows day by day the amputees are legion now.
A woman holds her fractious child to sooth its fevered brow,
for her no hands to rock the cradle now.
A princess came and bravely tried to stem this rising tide
and in this one endeavor her short life justified
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