Once more the poppies dance upon the breeze.

A bright red carpet lay across the field.

Picturesque upon the eye to please.

A mask to cover all that war could yield.

No more hardship, a consequence of war.

The stench of futile death amongst the mud.

No more they’ll see the skylark swiftly soar,

Or take up arms because they’re told they should.

Row on row like statues set in glory.

Pristine gravestones reflected in the sun.

Each and everyone a different story

Of a Father, Uncle, Brother, Son.

Once more his current thoughts may falter.

Scarred in his mind the Pals who ne’er returned.

Sadly he knows that some things never alter.

Once more he knows that lessons won’t be learned.