This poem is for those who held the gun,
who marched and saw the moon and sun,
and for those who thought it would be fun.

This poem is for those who died
and those who would hide,
for those who’s hands would shake like an earthquake.

This poem is for those who were shot
but may never be forgot.
this poem is for those who’s homes are screaming for them to come back.

This poem is for the home front
and sea lanes and for those who made the bombs from lard. This poem is for those who could not be found, their family who wish they were safe and sound.

We wear the poppy to show respect for
for the soldiers and everyone who was around 1914-1918, for blood was spilt and a graveyard built.