In memory of our Glorious Dead
we used poppies to turn the village red.
On the walls and in the windows displayed
pictures depicting the price they had paid.
We all did our best to remember them
and we sang their songs as a requiem.
Then told of their deeds and spoke of their death
in fond remembrance of their final breath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem