He slumped onto the barbedwire
thinking of the end in no man's land
his uniform grey with ash
his army colours now blind to all

From out of a trench he had dashed
but dying no hero by the call of a whistle
just a name in a thankless world war
that in a thousand more years
will have tragically so many tears

No Poppy will grow here
whilst the bombs and gunfire go on
this land will not settle
with killing machines of metal

So he is dying with his blood and pride
yet not in a land for butterflies
he looks at his loves stained photograph
in his last breath gasps, Poppy my Poppy

By Christis Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris