It was the black night,
There are no lights are voices hear.
The desolate no mans land was still and quiet.
But a light soon shone across the land,
I grabbed a muddy, old gun and loaded it,
BANG!

The light went out.
It was a 16 year old boy,
Gone and part of the millions more, resting.
A poppy grew in front of me,
He was there.

It was like the mud on my hands,
Was the blood of the boy.
I couldn’t get it off.
I could hear his scream,
And feel his pain, at that moment,
I ran as a deserter.