Up on poppy hill they say, where no animal makes a sound.
No children wander off to play, just poppies all around.

If I recall between you and I, In that bright red field of flowers.
Like a crimson wave, a scarlet sea, hides stories full of powers.

For it was up on poppy hill, you know, in the red fields there yonder.
Where you might see the lonely widow, as she often starts to wander.

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Let's hold each other's hands,

And in silence, stand

Where the fields of poppies grow,

Let us remember them

Our brave young men

Buried just below.

For those who cried

As they laid down and died,

So very far from home,

With just white clouds,

Deaths gossamer shrouds

Covering their tortured bones.

Let's think a little more,

Is liberty worth dying for?

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Decaying corpses, unique stench
With cordite blowing, past our trench
I no longer hear the warning rattle
But smell and taste impending battle

In the distance sounds a Lewis Gun
Maybe aimed at some unlucky Hun
So far in front of our barbed wire
Amongst the brown serrated mire

The Corporal said this place was ‘Wipers’
Mud and blood and German Snipers
The Sergeant Major called it Ypres
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