The sky was blue, the day so clear,
Each shell exploded much too near,
A whistle said it’s over the top we must go,
To charge across a field, where only poppies grow.
Machine guns that had stood silent for a while,
Began to cut us down when in open file,
Many would never again see the sun’s bright glow,
For they lay dead upon the ground where only poppies grow.
When so many failed to come back,
Others made ready for the next attack,
They charged across the same churned up ground,
Where only crushed poppies could now be found.
