Sister Morphine Tears by Paul Griffiths

In those fields of battle.
So many fell.
Cut down in their prime.
In that living hell.

This was called the War.
To end all wars.
But it didn’t end a thing.
Just followed by more death and suffering.

From out that ground.
Of man’s misdeeds.
A flower took to seed with magic milk.
So soothe the woes of mankind’s ilk.

For Mother Nature gift.
The Poppy was its name.
To combat War,
To ease man’s pain.

She had witnessed man’s folly
So she gave the nurses the Poppy milk.
It could ease man’s pain, let them dream.
In the warm embrace of Sister Morphine.

From all the death and sorrow.
That soaked into that mud.
The Poppy embellished the power for doing good.
It spread far her magic strain.

Travelled the world, in easing pain.
She would let you sleep, banishes fears.
As she sobs for us.
Sister Morphine tears.

But she feels betrayed .
They way she is used.
It’s mankind’s nature to abuse.
From heroine to heroin.

Poppy milk now does mankind in.
Your gift is not wanted anymore.
Now the Poppy Crop has started.
Man off, in a new drug War.

What was given to heal.
Has now driven us to kill.
But that’s not the Poppies fault.
She tried to help our needs.

It just mankind’s way.
We thrive of Greed.

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