by Mary O’Rourke Clayton-le-Moors
They died on ‘Flanders Fields’ for others,
Sons, husbands, fathers, brothers and lovers,
It broke the hearts of those they left behind,
But they could not break the bonds that bind.
Mothers suffer natures pains of birth,
Is this all her beloved son’s life is worth?
He died on ‘Flanders Fields’ not yet a man,
She felt the pain before she knew that he had gone.
They did not know that they would die
In muddy trenches beneath the sky,
Wet, cold and bloodied they could not understand
Why they were suffering in this god forsaken land.
Now they lie in regimental rows,
In Flanders Fields where the poppy grows,
Blood red they bloom and sway together,
A heart wrenching sight now and forever.
Today we honour those who were called too soon,
With respectful silence and the tune,
The ‘Last Post’, the bells, the hymns,
Grant us PEACE, no more wars, no one wins.
The ones that were called to fight this war,
Would love to live in peace for evermore,
Wars evil, how do they start?
It’s power and greed, and it breaks our heart.