Once crimson poppies bloomed
out in a foreign field,
each memory reminds
where brutal death was sealed.
The crimson petals flutter down,
still hatred forms a thorny crown.
For in this present time
we wait in vain for peace,
each generation cries,
each longing for release,
while war still plagues the human race
and families seek a hiding place.
Verses 3-4 follow
Tune: Little Cornard
Andrew Pratt (born 1948)
Words © 5/10/2012 Stainer & Bell Ltd, London, England, www.stainer.co.uk.
Please include any reproduction for local church and school use on your CCL Licence returns. All wider and any commercial use requires prior application to Stainer & Bell Ltd.
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