The autumn wind, a whispered sigh, Through empty spaces in the sky. Another year has turned its page, And history whispers from a distant stage. We gather close, with heads bowed low, For seeds of courage that were sown. And in the fields, where courage bled, A crimson promise, painted red. The poppy blooms, a sacred trust, From hallowed ground, from bone and dust. Each petal frail, a silent plea, "Remember them, remember me." They left their homes, their futures bright, Stepped into shadow, faced the night. For freedoms we now hold so dear, They conquered doubt, they conquered fear. A generation, strong and bold, A story whispered, to be told. And in the fields, where courage bled, A crimson promise, painted red. The poppy blooms, a sacred trust, From hallowed ground, from bone and dust. Each petal frail, a silent plea, "Remember them, remember me." The bugle calls, a haunting sound, As silent minutes fill the ground. We pin the emblem, close to heart, A vow that time will never part. Though years may fade, and seasons turn, The lessons learned, forever burn. And in the fields, where courage bled, A crimson promise, painted red. The poppy blooms, a sacred trust, From hallowed ground, from bone and dust. Each petal frail, a silent plea, "Remember them, remember me." Remember them... A crimson promise... Remember me. ... Our debt remains, profound and vast, The memory holds, forever fast... We will not forget. We will not fail. Remember them... Remember them...
