ROSES ON A HILL

a poem by Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Montik, USA - poetry writer, author, poet

Aligned in rows like soldiers,
red, like their spilt blood,
lay several crimson roses,
upon the grass and mud.

The widows tears fall freely,
the children silent as they gaze,
watching the flag's slow rising,
blurred by unacceptance haze.

Those prounouced the lucky,
lay on beds of white,
missing bits and pieces,
which they had given to the fight.

The trumpets coats were shining,
as they danced in rays of sun,
their notes drifting through the air,
telling all it had begun.

The widows weeped like newborns,
the children no longer still,
the sound of grief unbearing,
upon that crowded hill.

Goodbye our sons and husbands,
you fought till battles end,
goodbye our loving brothers,
no more will you defend.

Aligned in rows like soldiers,
no longer petals red,
lay several dirt-streaked roses,
from our country for which they bled.

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