A simple poem about war times (in relation to poppy day)

Fields crammed full,

of flowers so red,

we once were the livng,

now we're the dead.

Another death by day,

more tears by night,

people kept fighting though they knew they would die.

People trample on our graves,

the place where we lie,

this is where we belong,

the place where we died.

It's all over now,

the war is done,

and a wreath in remembrance tells everyone.

We're here, right now, under where you stand.

We fought for your lives on this holy land.

We lived and fought below,

swallows in the sky,

we are the dead,

and ask yourselves why.

The End

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