Flags and flowers:
three bloody years
worked in silk.
At the needle’s eye
stand easy, ghost,
slip through my fingers
your blue, indelible,
weightless kisses
for the children.
Tell Charlie, Min,
time is short now.
Up to the firing line
for night operations —
a ‘fabrication française’
where threads unravel,
unvarnished truths
must be embroidered
by cheery cards.
Not the only one
not by a long way,
your loving brother
Albert.
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