Down Whitehall’s austere Avenue

They march with measured stride

To honour those who went to war

Who fought but sadly died

Upon their chests the medals gleam

So proudly worn this day

Reminders of those harsher times

In battles far away

And as the eleventh hour sounds

They stand in rigid lines

Heads held erect and shoulders back

They think upon those times

The silence ends and people blink

As tears are wiped aside

To hear that bugle’s poignant tune

Just fills their hearts with pride

Those blood-red poppies on their chests

Are there for all to see

How wars are fought and comrades lost

To strive for victory

Another year, another line,

Of comrades, showing every sign

That war is never won