In Flanders fields they lie,

those who fought for freedom, only to honorably die. 

A gentle breeze nudges the soft petals of a sea of poppies

and reminds us of the old Red, White, and Blue’s glories.

These men had pride, honor, love.

Death fell upon them like a gliding dove. 

For they knew they had saved many lives

and Old Glory still thrives.  

In Flanders fields they lie, 

Life slipping away, not a single cloud in the sky. 

Thanks to them, the bald eagle remains in flight, 

grasping freedom in its talons. Ah, what a sight!

With the loss of their lives comes a new beginning. 

As come spring, new life is like a true blessing. 

The children can play in fields of white flowers

still holding onto that freedom that is ours. 

In Flanders fields they lie,

having endured something that could make one cry. 

They won’t see peaceful blue waters any longer 

or the forests filled with trees that make them 

stronger. 

Instead, they look for a ladder that will bring them to a peaceful place

where they can fall asleep for good with such grace. 

A poppy’s petal lands softly on the ground,

not making a single sound.