'They Shall Not Grow Old'
By Nigel Hilliam, of Bellmans Grove, Whittlesey.

Would you like to buy a poppy?
It's for a friend of mine.
He used to be a soldier
When he was young and in his prime.
He heard the call and left us all
And went to Flanders' mud.
For a shilling a day in fields he lay
Amidst flowers the colour of blood.

Would you like a pin to fix it in?
It's made of solid steel.
The same as the shells that fell from hell
To the devil's howl and squeal.
He heard the sounds and hugged the ground
And kissed the petals of red.
But when silence came it was never the same
When your brothers were injured or dead.

Would you like a cross to mark their loss?
For the sacrifice they gave.
There's a memorial stone, though it's overgrown
As they never had a grave.
He survived to the end, bid farewell to lost friends
And scattered the seeds black as coal.
Then from each single tomb a poppy would bloom
Over his memories and maybe his soul.

Would you like a wreath to share his grief?
It's of poppies arranged in a chain.
The money we raise will be used in ways
To help him ease his pain.
He still has dreams and hears their screams
In the shell-hole of his bed.
And as he wakes his hands still shake
With petals of bloody red.
He marches into battle,
With his head held high
He'll fight for his country
Knowing he might die