On Climbing the Lion at Waterloo

On a sunny, sunny day
Bees buzz in the clover, bright white spots of clover,
Brilliant in the light.
Flowers nod in the sun, blissful, quiet and at peace,
Hands lay in the green, green grass, grasping, holding peace.
Birds chirping in the sun, circling, perching peace.
Peace has settled like a vulture to the feast
On the green, green grass

Sound:

Screaming, fighting, blood-noise disturbed the peace
Violent interlude on a sunny, sunny day.
The sun poured down so liquid soft,
Kissing the face of the fighters, blessing.
Between the shuffling feet, the scuffle
The rifle’s crack and the thud of impact.
The cannons saluting across the field
The ripping and the rending
The groaning of the dying.
The flowers strive to see the sun,
The light so bright and clean,
Beaming over bloodshed
On the green, green grass

Green is always greener by contrast.

The sun’s rays touch a face, on that sunny, sunny day
Sweat drips from that face
On that sunny, sunny day.
Sweat and blood, sweet tasting on the lips,
In the sun, on the grass, hands clasp
In the green, green grass.

There is a lone tree in the green, green field.
Its branches framed in sunlight.
A bird sits and serenades the tourists.
There are two hundred year old bullets
Embedded in the trunk.