iwannappz

A Poppy is to Remember In Flanders fields the poppies blow He remembers the shrill of the falling bombs, the ear-piercing bang of the guns. Between the crosses, row on row, He remembers the lasting ring of the guns firing in salute to their fallen brothers and sisters in arms That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly He remembers how he would send letters to his papa, telling him that it would be over soon, that he would liberate him from the enemies. Scarce heard amid the guns below. He remembers when he flew over the broken cities, with only empty skeletons of the proud buildings left standing. We a