Killing Field

Killing Field.

The mass grave of ivory hued sandstones,
each one of the same size and just the thing
as headstones, has been filled in.

Chocolate brown soil covers them and that’s
a pity, not touched by a stonemason’s hand
they will forever be nameless and lack soul.

Grass and weed will cover the soil sheep
will graze rabbits frolic, as the shepherd
smokes a cigarette and look at the blue sky.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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