In Afghan Fields
By David MacKinnon, Battleford, Saskatchewan
In farmers’ fields the poppies blow
between the soldiers row on row
marked in their place, their place to die
The vultures so confidently fly
not seen amid the guns below
There will be dead, short days ago
Youth lived, saw dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved and were loved, whose blood is shed
in Afghan fields
Take your offering to the foe.
To you whom power is bestowed
The branch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break the faith to those who die
they shall not sleep, though poppies grow
in Afghan Fields
