The Flag Poem by Alex Cairnie

The Flag

The soils rich on Flanders fields,
stained red by mortal men
Who went away to earn a crust,
but did not return again

From fifteen through to forty years,
There ages matter not
Their names an epic sacrifice,
that time has not forgot

Mothers, fathers, children, wives,
forever bare the strain
Of those that went without regret,
for someone else's gain

And faced each day with savage odds,
they fell dead line by line
But not a man refused to quit,
their loss the greatest crime

A lesson learned for hastiness,
a cross we learned to bare
Of those who have the final say,
who apparently do not care

By god no man should have to face,
his death before his years
And laid to rest in far off graves,
leaving only bitter tears

Two hundred fought two thousand,
for forty days and nights
To free a world from harsh regime,
and give us back our rights

I watched our number fall by day,
no man should suffer this
And each new morn the pile grew,
another soul to miss

We charged at dawn and to the last each man deserved to live
But the unjust law of averages, no favours does it give
We gave our all, and more than that, and behold they did fall back
While every bullet split the air, with a whistle and a crack

To the death we fought in trenches,
and I saw their spirits drag
And then at last surrender came, a small white cotton flag
Yes the soils rich on Flanders fields stained red by mortal men
And never will a braver bunch than us be seen again

AC