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Fields of Belgium
I watch rats forage crumbs
amongst wet paper poppies,
where soldiers once dreamt
in shell shock.
Trenches carve the fields,
children lope through the mud,
gawping at history-
dead-men's boots.
Their small hands clamour
for cheap souvenirs,
stash tombstone stories.
Two bullets for a pound.
ã Aug 2002 Tara Chapple
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