The Communion Cup

Kneel now my son, in snow, sand, dust and mud,

And sip from wars cold communion cup.

The warm wine runs red as poppy blush,

And flows from countless open wounds.

The bread is broken with bullets and bombs,

And swallowed by so many shallow graves.

Watch as the fallen now rise anew, reborn,

Whilst we linger in the silences they leave behind.