Remembered

REmembered He knelt in the field of poppies red, He remembered his comrades, dead. 'twas all refreshed, the pain, the fear, The round he took, brought death near. The poppies strange, blood red all around, Like his mates, they littered the ground. Come on my lads, over the top we go, Time to give them a bloody show. We did that alright, that misty morn' So many dead, too many to mourn. Those poppies now are much too red, Maybe from all those men who bled. As the colors faded before his eyes, Memories flashed just before he died. The last one, before he felt so numb, Would they remember us in years to come? © Dave Timperley October 2020