Painting The Streets Red Poem by Royston Allen

At the whistle blast I went over the top
and I kept on going and did not stop.
As the barrage of bullets whistled by
I knew that if one hit me I would die.

Why such bloody carnage and why such hate?
Why should I let a bullet seal my fate?
But I will not falter or reason why
I'll do my duty, and if needs be die.

So for you my dear, I have paid the price
and bought your freedom through my sacrifice.
No more for me that dreaded whistle blast
for the bullet struck and did not whizz past.

Now all's silent and no more bullets fly.
Remember us and why we had to die.
Place poppies up high for us year after year
and play the last post so that all may hear