H. Nelson Fitton
Flowers Plucked Too Soon - Poem by H. Nelson Fitton
The canons have thrust their last fusillade
And the snapping sounds of rifles have abated
After dispatching their lethal messages.
Bodies, still strewn in their grotesque forms,
Profane the earth where once pristine fields
Flattered the eye to the far horizon.
Now a deathly silence falls heavy here
Upon a ghastly sight too often seen,
Repeated ceaselessly from ancient times.
In the silence of this numbing sight,
We can hear the pleading echoes across time:
Why? We were all of us flowers plucked too soon.
Comments about Flowers Plucked Too Soon by H. Nelson Fitton
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye