When the last shell fell,
and the ground was cold.
The land was marked
by the red petals
that had fallen like the
lives now cold.
Names of those wrote on
every flag of crimson that
had departed.
It was the eleventh moment,
of an eleventh occasion.
Where the guns fell silent
like those not going home.
We honour the past,
to live the future.
For without there sacrifice,
we wouldn't be able to live
the life we have now.
Thank you for those who fell,
those who came home.
Leaving apart of themselves that
is over there even now.
The last shell fell, but some echoes
never fade over time.
Echoing through life hoping to
never fall like that again.