Fields of France

 

Those millions of nameless faces

Feeding the acres of French wheat with their bones

Are sold by the dozens to strangers

From dust-filled, cluttered antique stores.

 

Feeding acres of Belgian wheat with their bones,

Century-old, beautiful boys,

From dust-filled, cluttered antique stores,

Fade into the blood-soaked fields of time.

 

Century old, beautiful boys,

The great sacrifice of an entire generation,

Fade into the blood-soaked fields of time

At a great risk of being forgotten.

 

The great sacrifice of an entire generation,

By majors and generals who couldn’t care less,

At no risk of being forgotten,

Unlike the lads who had no choice.

 

For majors and generals who couldn’t care less,

Thousands of pages were written,

Unlike the lads who had no choice

But to march and to kill and to die.

 

Thousands of pages were written

For those millions of faceless names

Who went to march and kill and die,

Are sold, by the dozens, to strangers.

 

(c) R. L. Elke 2016