What struck me was the gentle, fragrant breeze
That tripped across a wheat field and its hedges
Calling for Man’s mercy as dainty as you please
Then came foul thunder to obliterate all pledges.

 

Let Peace arise and make the harvests flower
In homage to our Glorious Dead
For we are those who bless this new born hour
Before when millions of us bled
Who passed the gate of Hell yet cheated Death
And mourned for many friends
To live a life of sorts with every passing breath
Yet loss abides and never ends.