We marched the streets, ducking out of sight,
For the German planes were always in flight.
But how did we define if a German was near?
The flag was wrong, and they would hide in fear.
Many innocent men fighting on the front line,
Going over the top, being blown by a mine.
Stuck in the trenches with rats in our boots,
Living on rashens and no tropical fruits.
Now there are poppies, where each soldier lay,
To remind us of them, and their brave attempt each day.
