A garrison churchyard
J. Ireland
A churchyard by a roadside bend,
Forgotten and unkept,
Bestrewn with gravestones, end to end,
Where stricken hearts have wept.
The scarlet of the gallant dead
Though hid beneath the turf,
Is born again in poppies red
That nod towards the surf.
O little silent waiting place
That looks towards the sea,
Within your crowded little space,
Lies all that's dear to me.