ON YONDER HILL

On yonder hill, the poppies sway
In chilled, yet friendly wind today
Their petals drift like young mens lives
Taken far from root, to fall neath skies

Their petals grew, fell, fade away
As if they have a line to say
To teach us all that glory brief
To often ends in soldiers grief

On yonder field, furrows score the ground
That once so clamoured, emits no sound
Each bay a story long could tell,
Of laughter sapped in youths own hell

Of dreams unrealised, futures strewn,
Of pipe and Drums last defiant tune,
Of Ordered slaughter, new hopes lost.
To lie there, yonder, under wooden cross