Fields of Poppies

Let's hold each other's hands,

And in silence, stand

Where the fields of poppies grow,

Let us remember them

Our brave young men

Buried just below.

For those who cried

As they lay down and died,

So very far from home,

With just white clouds,

Deaths gossamer shrouds

Covering their tortured bones.

Let's think a little more,

Is liberty worth dying for?

Is freedom the ultimate cause?

The white wooden crosses,

Exemplify those losses,

The bloody price paid in wars.