O blazen pennants lie around.
In sullied graves they soft surround.
They once that flew on flag poles high.
Of slivered tones that touch the sky.
Ripple dulled to winter shades.
Flutter no more eleven glades.
But what sweet balm fills the land.
A sea of heather now at hand.
Covers in profusion heat.
Soft white sand beneath our feet.
Where once shone shade of emerald light.
Fresh blown winds caress the night.
A fragrant pasture cushioned harsh.
A hummocked yellowed grass fed marsh.
Gravel shackled sand swept patch.
Water scorched its epitaph.
Bell sown clusters delicate pink.
Airborne armoured sugar drink.
