Soldiers charged from their mud-filled trench when they heard the whistles blow
to face the onslaught, fire and smoke of the dreaded German foe.
Many fell upon that day, their lives snuffed out by war,
and many left at home to grieve asked what it all was for.
Their husbands, sons and brothers all were called up to enlist,
young men rushed to join the fray, a fight not to be missed.
Now here they lie, these soldiers brave, in regimented rows,
whilst in another field nearby lie their fallen foes.
The poppies grow in fields above, which once were churned with mud,
these bright green fields, so verdant now, enriched with soldiers blood.
The once burnt stumps of blackened trees, sweep gently overhead,
sighing in the morning breeze, standing sentinel by our dead.
And so we now remember them, honouring them all,
who fought and died in this foreign land, answering the call.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem