Thousands leave, few return Soldiers die and cities burn Widows wept, children cried thinking of those who died Many years of endless death Dodging bullets, holding breath yellow clouds floating through the skies Burning lungs, throats, and eyes Shrapnel fell down like rain Breaking helmets, causing pain Gas, planes, tanks and guns Killing brothers, fathers, sons Those who return are Veterans great Those who died had a different fate Those who don't return are our honoured dead They take this honour to their final bed Their names are placed on walls and stone To show those they left are not alone Every year we remember those who died Who gave their lives, their souls, their hide We wear upon our chests, flowers of red To show respect to those who are dead
This was one of the first poems I ever wrote. Always remember where you came from :)