Only by distant birdsong competing for attention.
Skylarks now the screaming shells, broadcasting,
Recounting war torn stories of loss, valour and pain. A chaotic chorus
For a generation’s youthful exuberance, naivety primed
Then cut down by conflict’s precussive breathlessness. Entrenched;
History re- told by its summer song,
Soaring, then vanishing into times horizon far
Beyond the foreign fields of living memory. Gone.
Departed, leaving a quietened consolation of tears
Reflecting in the deeply carved graffiti of conflict.