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    I vaguely recall an old interview
    with one of the Great War's last survivors,
    approaching or passing a century's life.
    His simple message was that we should love.

    Like all of worth I suspect it's forgot,
    and if I mentioned the article now
    I'd be looked at as though I'd said I'm the Pope,
    and that daffodils taunt me in French.

    I hope the old boy died thinking his message would last,
    and feeling at least that his family heard.
    I picture them shrouded in white loveliness,
    not quite understanding this strange miracle,

    that woodlands of love can blossom from shit.

    consistency is the hobdob
    of small minds[
    Great work, Jack. Smile

    Wildcard is awesome.
    Cheers, MarkSmile

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