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We the flowers in the field
have whispered at times
of the deeds that humans do
The wind sings these tales to us
as our heads dance in its hold
And we ponder and ponder
And grieve in our colourful disguise
And we wonder as to why
Men hate, men destroy and kill
But we are flowers and they,
they seem to have no will
To hold what is precious
To treasure what is fragile
To build what is shattered
And we look and look and we cry
We the flowers in the field
we will perish one by one
In quiet desperation,without anger
Without sound
And there will be no memories
That we were once flowers
Beautiful and vibrant
Wonders of this world
IN MEMORY OF LIONEL DODAMPE 
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