Remembrance Day. (2005)
(11th November 11:11)
A field of wet, red poppies,
All glistening in the sun.
Some women pick as trophies
But it isn’t just for fun.
Here on this month, years ago
And on this day and hour.
Men marched across, to and fro,
So others could gain power.
Friend met foe and foe met friend,
They were both prepared to kill.
Instead both left the field dead,
Silent, stiff and lying still.
Different poppies surrounded
The corpses of those soldiers.
A mangled limb, severed head,
All scattered round the roses.
And now when it’s eleven
That strikes each and every note.
We remember, all aggrieving,
Those who died for naught.
