Upon a slab in every town,
Lays the list of honoured dead,
A silent and clean reminder,
Of the blood that once flowed.
A Monument,
Cold and Hard,
Like the bodies,
The bodies that rest in Flander’s Field.
That Monument,
It stands unnoticed,
By many, Un-honoured,
And the few who notice?
Do they remember?
The blood that once flowed?
The monument, though oft’ forgot,
Is also a warning,
That cannot be ignored,
Lest More Bodies fall.
We have forgotten,
The sacrifices,
The Bodies,
The Lessons,
Because the Blood still flows!
By Martin Nelson
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