In fields of poppies, crimson and bold,
A tale of valor and sacrifice, untold.
Remembrance Day, a solemn grace,
A day to honour, in a hallowed space.

Silent whispers echo in the breeze,
Of heroes standing ‘neath tall trees.
In Flanders’ fields, where poppies sway,
A tribute to those who paved the way.

They marched through trenches, cold and deep,
Where tears of sorrow often seep.
Their courage, a flame in the darkest night,
A beacon that still burns so bright.

On this day, we stand in unity,
A tapestry woven with bravery.
Remembering faces, now long gone,
Their legacy, in our hearts, lives on.

A bugle’s call, a solemn sound,
Echoes through landscapes scarred and bound.
In silence, we reflect and pray,
For those who gave their all that day.

The crimson poppies, like drops of blood,
A poignant symbol, a field’s soft flood.
Each petal tells a story true,
Of sacrifice and honor due.

Remember the fallen, their names we say,
On this Remembrance Day.
In quiet moments, our hearts bow,
To those who then and there avow.

A minute’s silence, a moment’s grace,
A somber smile on each weathered face.
For those who rest ‘neath foreign sod,
We honor you, forever more.

In every poppy that graces the earth,
A symbol of gratitude, of immeasurable worth.
Remembrance Day, a timeless vow,
To honor the fallen, then and now.