Fields of red, of poppy leaf
The fields where so many brave came to grief
Brave men indeed who refused to kneel
To give freedom to others, we remember them still
Fields of red, of poppy leaf
For Those men and boys who passed we grieve
The light extinguished in their eyes
But the dream of freedom was realised
Fields of red, of Poppy leaf
Freedom for all was their belief
This is the gift that they bestowed
The gift they gave as their lifeblood flowed
Fields of red, of Poppy leaf
Years have passed and still we grieve
We remember the fallen, the brave that have gone
The men and women all standing as one.
The Fields of red, of Poppy leaf…
Armistice day 11/11
Covered in mud, blood, sweat and tears.
Lads so very young in years.
Some so young they shouldn’t have been.
Even witnessing those terrible scenes.
Let alone fighting in the trenches surrounded by death.
Watching comrades draw their last breath.
Giving everything they had to give.
Wondering if they are going to Live.
Scared to death they fought the fight.
Death was within their sight.
Cholera, Trench foot, a bullet which was going to get them first ?
Which could actually be the worst ?
They gave their lives so that we may be free.
It is not just the injuries that we can see.
The missing limbs,the arms the legs.
It is the trauma going on inside their heads.
With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, flashbacks, Night terrors to name but a few.
How are they ever going to forget what they went through ?
Of all the things they had to do.
They won’t,It will be with them until the end of their days.
They will then take it with them to their graves.
In the cold of the bleak morning sky,
we see no leaf stirs, nor birds flying by.
As we wake to the crisp Autumn chill,
we see flags at half staff, are hanging still!
It’s a day well suited for a sombre event,
when we, as a Nation remember and lament,
those who, answering Freedom’s clarion call,
fought the aggressor, and gave of their all!
As spectators watching the Parade passing by,
we’ll remember a loved one, with tear filled eye.
Proudly we’ll salute, for those we fondly recall,
who are unable to answer the bugle’s urgent call!
At Eleven, for a minute of silence we’ll pause
to show respect for those who died for a cause.
One that saw many die in the prime of their youth,
who took up arms, in the fight for freedom’s truth!
Some, placing their poppy, on the tomb
of the Unknown Warrior, do so for whom
no grave exists. This sign of deep respect,
reminds us, they too, we must never forget!
November 11th, is a revered, auspicious day,
when we, as a Nation, show respect, and pay
tribute to those who died fighting the foe.
It’s for their sacrifice, our Freedom we owe!
Rhymer. November 11 th, 2016.
The barbed wires gone the craters filled in
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
men's tears have been wiped and burials done
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
young men died because old men lied
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
A nation bows its head in prayer this day
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
stop the killing end these wars
and you will not need poppy's in a hundred years .
The old soldier reflects
During a two minute lull.
Shiny medals worn
On clothes drab and dull.
Wearing a red poppy
With feelings of regret and pride.
Teardrops for comrades
Who died by his side.
Now begs for pennies
On the city streets
Looked down upon
By some that he meets.
Waiting for a pension
Promised years before.
One more statistic
A hero of war.
With paper blooms of vibrant red,
recalling battles and their dead.
A moment’s silence, deep in thought
of young lives taken as they fought;
of blood and innocence still shed.
From Flanders fields the poppies spread,
on black lapels they grow instead.
Remembrance, love and hope are sought
with paper blooms.
Eleven chimes; with lowered head
sincere, unspoken prayers are said,
let those lives lost be not for naught,
please heed the lessons that we’re taught,
and pave a peaceful world ahead
with paper blooms.
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