The boys and girls ran towards the sound of music
The music played by a proud military band
It was a scene that was oft times repeated
In every town and village in the land.

And when they arrived at their main street
The music was mingled with the sound
Of thousands of hob nailed leather boots
Crunching on the cobbled ground.

The hundreds of green uniformed men
In rows abreast with rifles shouldered
Marched off to their date with destiny
In fields where many dead already mouldered.

And yet they still marched off together
Smiling at the gathered crowds of their towns
Never questioning the reasons for the war
From Scotland’s North, to the South Downs.

They just turned up willing to fight and die
In this “great” war that would end all wars
They all were proud to go and **** the ***
For God’s, King’s and country’s righteous cause.

Across the North Sea it was the same
The willing young men marched off to battle
Great and noble they thought was their cause
And they went to their slaughter like unknowing cattle.

Throughout the continent of Europe, young men,
Joined their disparate armies then became willing
To become part of an industrialised version of war
That mass produced all the means of easy killing.

And each one in every country thought the same,
That they had “God” on their side and were blessed,
So their leaders in politics and in their church
Happily put this belief to its so far greatest test.

Today a hundred years has passed us by
Since the first shots of the war were fired
And we are debating how to commemorate
That sad war and the millions who expired.

Should we treat it as some historical jaunt
Or as a necessary conflict to defeat a tyrant’s threat?
Or should we look on it as an avoidable war
All consequences of which we have not seen yet?

We should remember those who died
We ought to strive never to forget a single one,
But we should do it in a quiet, thoughtful way,
With politics, the military and the church all gone.

Instead why not just buy some red poppy seeds
The reddest red of the reddest blood
And scatter them freely on verges and gardens
In memory of the millions who died in the mud?