This November it’s been 100 yearsSince young soldiers dried away their tearsMarching home to victory and prideBut I know, they were still hurting deep inside
The war to end all wars it was saidBut that was never really put to bedAnother war of blood and gutsFrom the air, the seaTaking cover in the ruts
I was once a soldier in more modern timesConflict is still here across all linesI laughed, I cried, I stared, I grinnedThrough the heat and the coldThe still and the wind
I’ll never forget my mates left and rightOur aim to be one, and to never lose sight
Now I’m older and have time to reflectIt hurts to think of war’s effectWhatever the reason, we’re human on all sidesI’m sure we could just talk to heal the divides
I wear a poppy upon my breastAs I stand alone, pushing out my chestFor all the wars’ dead is what my poppy is forEspecially the men and women of the First World War.
MY POPPY
A Poem by Bob Shepherd
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