They will not return to us,

       Those whom the guns have lulled to sleep.

Only the poppies will mark their place,

       Watered by the tears their mothers weep.

And who will care in years to come

       How many souls beneath us lie,

Or why they left their native land

       And sought out here a place to die?

Now dusty letters alone remain,

       Promising widows of a love that’s true.

While ticking clocks keep jealous guard,

       Of how it was that silence grew.

And ghostly voices will ask in awe,

       How it was we could forget?

And turn our backs on our sleeping sons,

       And argue years as a cancelled debt.

For they will not return to us,

       Those whom the guns have lulled to sleep.

And only the poppies will mark their place,

       Watered by the tears their lovers weep.