When the last shell fell,
  and the ground was cold.

The land was marked
    by the red petals
that had fallen like the
            lives now cold.

Names of those wrote on
every flag of crimson that
                           had departed.

It was the eleventh moment,
           of an eleventh occasion.
Where the guns fell silent
       like those not going home.


We honour the past,
                   to live the future.

For without there sacrifice,
     we wouldn't be able to live

the life we have now.

Thank you for those who fell,
            those who came home.
Leaving apart of themselves that
               is over there even now.

The last shell fell, but some echoes
                        never fade over time.
Echoing through life hoping to
             never fall like that again.