red memories of ypres,so long ago
fiery troops left as smoldering embers
broken dreams,shattered like glass
the edges still sharp,to slash and dismember
wasted lives? or noble ends?-innocent victims,lay staring in wonder
troubled minds go over the edge,fall to the ground, and are torn asunder
battle weary patriots,in blood stained uniforms
trading death with the enemy,in the volleying cannon storms
noble lives, with wasted ends-fates are controlled by impersonal friends
fragile lives,hang on delicate threads
woven through hell-and cut short
charging towards,the battlefront,attacking underfire
injured soldiers in the aftermath,waiting in pain,to die!