The sun spills over the canvas,

A stretch of muddy field.

The perfect place for a story,

Of brave warriors who carve and wield.

The birds sing into the morning,

A cheerful chipper song,

Each note echoing through the quiet,

Each one out of place and wrong.

Each member of the town wears a poppy,

Hold there head up proud and high,

For there is nothing for them to worry about,

They were never asked to die.

Yet the men who were had something they don't,

Knew a secret they never will,

Those men fought for Queen and Country,

They defended, they did not kill.

Those men are dead and buried,

And with them a certain pride,

Their fates will never be for gotten,

Its up held in every veterans stride.