The poppy, nourished by valiant souls
A bitter memory of mud and foxholes
Where men and boys stood side by side
Stripped of everything but their pride.
Did Peter know Otto when he pointed his gun?
Did Günter know Simon when he shot his son?
The answers are written in blood on mud
But the question is lost, lost for good!
Their fate was taken out of their hands
As soon as they embarked on foreign lands
Decisions were taken on far away lawns
About how to deploy these sorry pawns
Generals would sit at the dining table
Handing favours, as they were able
Condemning men in the same breath
Sending thousands of soldiers to their death.
War games played by the ruling classes
Affecting the lives of the subdued masses
Still, with courage and determination
Man and boy fought for the Nation
Ninety seven years and the guns are gone
From Ypres, Passendale and the Somme
Replaced by row upon endless row
Of graves where soul nourished poppies grow.