As the yellow mist

rolls across the fields

of slaughter

The young man thinks

Of  his unborn daughter

How would she have looked?

How would she have grown?

Would her heart have been full

From the love he had shown?

Would her smile have been his?

Would her eyes have been blue?

And shimmer in sunlight

like fresh morning dew?

 

Yet, he knew not her mother

For they had not yet met

But, she would be a corker!

On that you could bet! 

 

He would never find out

Or, his body be found

For  blazing relentless

Came round after round

And  his eyes are now burning

And his open wounds sear 

And the blood flows like water

To be earth's red veneer

 

As his weary head rises

In a scorched, barren land

There kneels a small child

With poppy in hand

Her blue eyes, like starlight

And a smile of his own

And she says, we'll remember

Those lost and unknown

And all those who fought

We'll live in your debt

Age shall not weary you

 

Lest we forget