The soldier doesn't divert from his teachings, he sticks with them until the job is finished
If he, the soldier should die, think only pleasantly of him for as he now lies in a foreign land
He dies with the sound of stuttering rifles though with the picture of England in his mind
He didn't die where the flowers were filled with blood; he passed where the poppies grew with the blood of the fallen soldiers
The prayers, contempt and angelic voices of the choirs won't save them
Rather the flowers that shielded them whilst they lay asleep
I'm sorry that we can't shake their hands to thank them for saving us;
Most were still boys when they left and signed and for a man's job
The perishing darkness that once closed in on us has fled
We no longer knew who's rich nor poor as we were once all dressed in the same rags
We all once starved to the same degree that we wished for death to come take us away
Open the blinds and glance on the streets where the plaques of the once forgotten now lie
To teach the future generations of the selfless and dauntless men that sacrificed themselves to save us, mere strangers and loved ones
Not knowing what was ahead of them or whether they'd return; no hesitation was heard
Though we know that the soldier left us thinking of his heavens whether it be France, England, America or the rest of the allies
The soldier had once experienced laughter, love of friends and family and gentleness
Now he could experience them forever whilst he lies resting peacefully
We can never know what happened to our dear soldier on the battlefield but we do know that he fought heroically and died thinking of the where the poppies blossomed in his true heaven.
