THE CROCUS WAR
Lined up in their pristine liveries,
The regiment of Crocuses stand erect
Perfect in their sun-kissed Rigour
They await the drum and whistle
Which will prelude the attack.
The drumming rain decimates their legion,
Splashing their colours to the ground.
The whistle of the wind takes it’s toll
As more are bent and broken…
There is a pathetic fallacy
About their toil:
The press to raise their strident petals
To the heights…
A vainglorious hope!
Casually dashed by the Mercurial Skies…
Just another pretty young soldier,
Cut down in his prime.
copyright Dale Beck 2018