Print This Page
On a sad November Day we hear of Flanders Fields
The rows of white crosses they seem so very real
They were once brave young lads with comrades true and bold
We all must do our part to keep their story told
They march through the school with flowers oh so red
They ask us to remember the things that they've said
For them it's so clear for they've been to war
We shouldn't have to ask just what they're praying for
But who are these men with their glory pinned to their breast
What does it mean for the rest
Their tears stain their cheeks yet their faces glow with pride
They've fought and tried
Watched young men die never questioning why - for you and I
They talk of battles long, while young ones try to feel
But with lives so full and plenty it seems so unreal
It's hard to picture now those men clad in blue
Crawling through the trenches praying "God get me through"
Their prescence gently stirs us to remember those that died
Men who gave their bodies leaving young hearts behind
But with each passing memory and each passing sunset
All must tell the story "Lest we forget"!
But who are these men with their glory pinned to their breast
What does it mean for the rest
Their tears stain their cheeks yet their faces glow with pride
They've fought and tried
Watched young men die never questioning why - for you and I