Poems in Memory of the Wars!

Fields of France Over the fields of France, we go, Risking everything is a chance, we know. No time to weep, whimper or cry, No time to tell our loved ones a simple goodbye. Once an image of beauty, now a fighting ground, BOMBS! BOMBS! Everywhere, the only remaining sound. The only other noise is of the lieutenant’s gun, Firing at the enemy beneath the morning sun. A pile of dead bodies, oh what a mess, Leaving the few survivors shell shocked and depressed. With only a small, red Poppy to mark where their bodies lay, Over the hill and into the land where they fought to give us our today. And every year each village gathers to remember the men, That fought to bring the world peace again. It was a dangerous risk, we know, But over the fields of France, their silhouettes go.