The Fields Of Normandy.

I walk through fields that where once filled with the thunder of war,
This war like lightening through the whole world roared.
These fields are full of poppies of crimson red,
These flowers mark the graves of the faithful dead.
The blood red hue of the flowers bloom,
Lifts my heart and dispels the reverent gloom.
Like thousands of beating hearts they spread,
Across the land when you look at them from overhead.
Hearts of the imperfect and flawed,
Yet they held courageously the torch of freedom up before their God.
Making in the end the sacrifice;
The price of which was their life.
No greater love has man than this.
The flowers bear witness of their sacred gift.
That torch is now passed to us,
Into imperfect hands falls this sacred trust.
Though blemished and broken we as all people are,
It is still possible to hold aloft a burning star.
The common man full of faults and turmoil,
Was the hero that these flowers bear witness of on this hallowed soil.
There are noble deeds done,
By the broken and fallen who labor under the sun.
Keep in your heart the torch of light.
For flowers grow in places we do not give up and continue to fight.