Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there. I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one.
Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.
The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.
Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.
If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.
I would blossom if I were a rose.