They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
*
A World Of War
The final shot had been fired.
The last fighter fell,
His enemy wounded and still.
All was dark.
A lonely wind blew through the void,
Whispering its silent wail of senseless agony.
A river of blood burst over its banks of death.
Pain seeped into the earth.
All seemed lost to the world of war.
Trees lay in splinters,
Lands barren and torn.
A moment of peace.
A moment of calm.
The Poppies will grow once more.
*
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
*
A World Of War
The final shot had been fired.
The last fighter fell,
His enemy wounded and still.
All was dark.
A lonely wind blew through the void,
Whispering its silent wail of senseless agony.
A river of blood burst over its banks of death.
Pain seeped into the earth.
All seemed lost to the world of war.
Trees lay in splinters,
Lands barren and torn.
A moment of peace.
A moment of calm.
The Poppies will grow once more.
*
We will remember them...
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