The Blood of the Flowers

A Civil War Poem

The flowers were stained red,

With the blood of those who died,

Soldiers spread across the battlefield,

And the flowers far and wide.

I watched them from a distance,

How they swayed in the wind,

So heavy and so weighted,

With the blood of those unfortunate men.

How sad it is that we've resorted to this,

When it comes to our own countrymen,

How hard times must be,

When we will kill our own friends.

I see blue and gray and red,

Molded together,

For what does it matter what color they wore,

When they will all be dead forever?