Did the souls of boys,cut down in France,come home again,to rest in lush ditches,by English country lanes,as bright summer poppies, So, each year unending,free to dance once more,joyful remembrance blooms,headless of the rush,of passing motorcars,in home-counties soil, Red now their clothes,heads sway rejoicing,on wildly weaving stalks,stout-hearted amid weeds,no brown wilted youth,inside worn frames, Ebullient life... Continue Reading →