Fields Where Freedom Grows

    In Flanders Fields where poppies grow

    Lines of a poem that I know

    Today takes on a different meaning

    To those who are divergently leaning.


    ‘Lest we forget’; and I fear we do

    What tyranny seeks for me, for you.

    The price that was paid with precious blood

    In wretched sorrow, in lifeless mud.


    Ho! To hear that bugle call!

    Its haunting sound as dead men fall

    ‘Lest we forget’ is our battle cry!

    For Liberty! Voices shout! Raised high!


    For insidious malice seeks to creep

    Under our doors while we sleep

    Lulling us to complacency

    A brave new world for you, for me.


    Now let the horns of Gondor blow!

    For despite the shadow we shall go

    To fight as soldiers for our keep

    Not as sheeple, but wakened sheep.


    For us desperate sacrifice was made.

    Foundation for a free world laid.

    ‘Lest we forget’ the price that was paid.

    Souls now to rest in eternal shade.


    ‘Lest we forget’ voices of those who seek

    With infectious tongues poisoned with future bleak

    To paint a picture that we buy

    Blissful ignorance, pacified high.


    For the game is always the same.

    Different ruler, different name.

    Different tactics that they bring.

    Still there are peasants and kings.


    ‘Lest we forget’ the power of words

    Of books, of history, of questioning herds.

    Let us honour these soldiers who gave their life.

    Let us fight for freedom no matter the strife.


    Prayers for veterans and hail the victorious dead.

    We hope for crowns of glory on each head.

    ‘Lest we forget’ in what they believed

    For if unfought for freedom is seized.