To all the soldiers near and far
who left to fight and die.
To all the boys who left their homes
while trying not to cry.
To all the men who carried on
to see their wives again,
and women too, the brave, the true,
who stood beside the men.
To all of them that gave their lives
in trenches, tanks, and planes.
To all of them not recognized
for bravery in the rains.
To privates, colonels, medalled men,
they all are brothers now,
connected by the same ill fate
and patriotic vow.
How could someone have taken them
and thrown them in the fray,
while bullets flew and fires burned
long past the fall of day?
How could someone have thought themselves
so powerful or just
that they could make the choice to send
a child into the dust?
How can we know which ones were loved
and which no one had cared?
How is it that, where bodies lay,
the glory is not shared?
Well I believe each one was loved
each one was someones friend
and so I think it not quit fair
that they should meet this end
and have no one remember them,
the ones without a grave,
the ones without and epitaph
who's bodies were not saved.
To also those who do have names
and crosses where they lay,
whose citizens just pass them by,
whose coffins rot away
I think they all deserve some love,
who cares what flag was flown?
I feel this even for the ones
from countries not my own.
So finally I'll just say this
for those that once did fall:
to all the soldiers near and far,
a poppy to you all.
