Where is the anger, wrath untold
For these young men that go to die,
In foreign fields where we behold,
Bright plumes of poppies where they lie.
Words can’t explain the tears that well,
For sons and brothers lost to life,
Too soon the ringing of that bell,
The rousing epitaph, the doleful fife.
And yet in youth there is no fear,
To follow bugles sounding proud,
The thought that death be quite so near
Drowned out by voices shouting loud.
Forward they go brothers in arms,
As if a wave breaking on shore,
Courage undoubted, impervious to harm,
They follow destiny to history’s lore.
For those that lived beyond the slaughter,
Their lives now changed for evermore,
Gone is the youth, the raucous laughter,
In a recurring nightmare of blood and gore.
Award posterity the wrongs of war,
Our solemn duty merely to remember,
All those brave souls that went before,
Their memory a bright everlasting ember.
