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Poet's corner.

August 2014: Centennial Reflection I pricked my finger on my poppy's pin And thought to curse but stayed the word: A bead of blood oozed thickly from the wound - A single life-drop - rich-crimson-precious - Bled, it seemed - against the day's significance - For oceans of its fellows lost ...

The sacrifice of the dead honoured and remembered.

But what of those who, heedless, danced with death - Who saw self-interest served by such an act: The jingo-jo imperialists, For ever covetous of empire; The global fiscal speculators, Sniffing out a dead-cert killing; The biddable industrialists, Only too willing to turn colanders into cannons; The rabid militarists, Coventry itching to unleash the machinery of slaughter - Shall we remember them, too? My single drop of wasted blood - How it brims in trepidation at the future.

Philip Sanders, Beacon Road, Holbrooks.

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Title Annotation:Letters
Publication:Coventry Evening Telegraph (England)
Date:Aug 2, 2014
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