Of Flanders Fields.

" In Flanders fields " That dread rondeau    
goes, " The poppies blow... row on row..."    
in vain lament as young men fell,    
stripped from home where innocence dwells    
then squared off to deal mortal blows...    
   
And it was so, as with their foe,    
spurred by righteous bugles to go    
tramp, tramp, down men's entrenched death hells,    
In Flanders fields.    
   
Father, brother, son, young girl's beau,    
still march with jingoed fervent glow,    
fear of life and limb stripping shells    
quelled, by men, under glory's spell,    
and so fall, like those, long ago,    
In Flanders fields...