One hundred years have come and gone
Since World War started here
Generations have moved on
Britain changed for evermore
On battlefields, young men lay dead
Deprived of life and
happy years with wife and child

The loss has echoed through the land
Oh what folly and foolishness has Man!
We’re poorer for that loss of youth
The only thing benefiting here
Is Flanders Field: the poppies grow
Above the grave, stained
red from blood below
All ‘Glorious Dead’ will never know
Dying only bought another show
Of discontented, beaten foe

As you stand on that chill November day
Think of the assets blown away
You may not know the reason
(Nor do I)
Why all those people had to die