In Flanders field the mothers stand among the gravestones, hand in hand,
Reflecting the life that they had planned, as tears drop on foreign land.
And wishing every shot and shell banished to the pits of hell
That man could see the carnage wrought when prejudice and hatreds taught
In Flanders field the poppies bow, beneath the broken, who somehow
Must carry on and live a life, marked by greatest sacrifice.
They leave their petals, blood red tears, fulfilment of their deepest fears
And play again within their hearts that day that tore their lives apart.
In Flanders field the mother stand among the gravestones, hand in hand,
Reflecting a life that they had planned, as tears drop on foreign land.
And wishing every shot and shell banished to the pits of hell
That man could see the carnage wrought when prejudice and hatreds taught
P E Yates 2014