Three poppies in the garden
are our sparse Passchendaele
while cuckoos chant this year’s
pre-nest assault Sieg Heil!      

The lambs upon the hillside
will shortly grace our plates
while there are even insects
which, coupling, eat their mates.

Green leaves upon old branches
flutter in the breeze
like flags waved by the crowds
as the troopships leave.

And we’re all fooled as Spring
performs its super-slick
hope-inspiring, huge,
mindless, ruthless trick –

as though the reborn world
were on a brand-new course
and not simply repeating
its annual holocaust.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Tom Vaughan would be pleased to hear them