Four years of war have been and gone,
Soldiers died in the fields of the Somme,
Our men, joined up with Russia and France,
Millions died, they stood no chance.

We remember those who gave their lives,
So that we could survive,
Sparing a thought for those who were left with afflictions,
Having to live with terrible inflictions.

Soldiers rest so peaceful and still,
Some lie unknown,
Underneath where the poppies had grown,
Hearing echoes of the planes that were once flown.

A silence fills the mourning air,
Their bodies lay without age or care,
The poppies sway from left to right,
In the friendly wind of today without fright.

Their petals fly away like young men’s lives,
Taken up to the never ending skies,
They re-join dead friends,
In that peaceful place that never ends.