A poppy red for our glorious dead,
a field of sacrifice swaying gently with the wind.
A grateful minute for fallen hearts, oaths defiant,
that none would rescind.  

Silent stand the ranks unseen,
of a Sunday solemn of bugle gleam.
Their muster to honor the living,
as far as the eye could see.
Proud ranks in best dress quietly stand,
    that died for you and me.