I’m here in the meadows,
With poppies catching my eye,
I lie amongst them and feel them grow,
As I hear the shells sing up above, I think to myself why.

I lie here dying,
Murdered by hatred and pain,
I live like the poppies, fertilised by love and vain,
Yet stamped on by that of the same,
And shot down by those of my own kind.

As I lay here amongst the flowers,
As minutes turn into hours,
I realise the poppies will never die,
Even through the shells and shootings,
They keep on blooming,
And they hold the memories of this boy from the D.L.I.

I’m here in the meadows,
As peaceful as can be,
I’ll never leave,
And my spirit will stay within the poppies that will never die.