Battlefields will grass over again and then our memories of war may fade.
Poppies have bloomed again all over fields,where those fallen souls have laid.
With churned up mud emblazoned with green once more, plants will flourish where lost souls did not.
When you look out across those fields once more, it will appear that time has forgot.
Battle scenes have halted, those screams, cries and all low moanings did forever cease.
The hellish noise and smoking guns have gone and now the sound is peace.
A smoke clear sun slowly drifts across that land with the sweet sounds of birds again.
With the families and forsaken left to mourn, enduring their long loss and pain.
When a hero warrior sacrificed a life for us,gone was another cherished soul.
Many sacrificed just a part of themselves, now their body is never whole.
Our veterans will grow ever older, slowly disappearing for ever from sight.
Joining our long lost fallen heroes, who never returned, from their savage fight.
When soldiers strode forward into battle, with thoughts of returning home.
Thoughts were not of numerous fallen souls at rest, in far off fields alone.
Still sleeping in those far off fields are un-named long lost souls far from their folks and home.
But within our memories and timeless thoughts, they’ll never ever sleep alone.
In far off forgotten corners un-named stones and makeshift wooden crosses, lie crumbling away in the sod.
He has no need to see a marker or their name, long lost heroes souls are always known by God.
Named and un-named headstones now appear in rows of white, for all to see.
Because many un-named heroes gave up a life, to give back a life to you and me.
Mankind will slip back into an easy rhythm, but will never more forget.
Those many hero souls who did not return, to whom we owe this our final debt.
We have this day within our life for world nations to stop and to remember.
Around the world a bugle call, summons all, the Eleventh Hour, the Eleventh Day of November.
With a calm contemplative Remembrance Day and with a quiet two minutes each and every year.
With that deafening silence, reverberating throughout hallowed grounds, for heroes, veterans and un-named lost sleeping souls to hear…
Mick Scarles (SW19 expat)