Those fields of poppys
That sway in red
A tribute to our young, now dead
That charged across
That land so green
A silent witness
To those sights unseen
Of shells that fell
Like so much rain
Inflicting that much more
Then pain
To wrench away from
Those that cared
Inflicting guilt on those
now spared
A legacy a brand on time
Now grows a flower
Of scented wine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I loved this the last time I read it Graham, it's a lovely write, and very moving, and also so true. Loved it. Love Ernestine XXX