The morning mist
retreated leaving green hills bright with dew.
The sunlight dried the
water drops, the grass thinned out anew.
Brown stains spread
Blood shone red
In splatters over
stones.
Here lay the dead
Shot with lead
And carrion bared their
bones.
The land retains our
history enclosed in its rich earth
Our crops feed off the
wealth of dead and give us our rebirth.
New blooms spread
Petals shine red
In patterns over
stones.
Rich flower bed
With love’s care fed
For our past sins
atones.
The ground is hallowed
where we walk in every country village
Its history holds the
sins of war, of death and rape and pillage
Yet we forget
We’re sinning yet
We fight wars overseas
New death is met
New grievance set
And we harvest bitter
tears.
The land retains our
history enclosed in its rich earth
Our crops feed off the
wealth of dead and give us our rebirth
Ian Smith of the Costa Blanca English Folk Music Club composed the music for this, but unfortunately I do not know how to add an MP3 audio file.
Heather
