I tramp for miles across low Field

from chalky cliffs through ancient Wield

from Spire to Spire and all between

beneath each stride lie those unseen

 

November’s light is quick to fade

as were the souls with which was paid

the credit that with every Step

we promise them “We wont forget”

 

Yet in the swathe of Fallen Leaf

the scarlet petals wilting grief

seems soon forgot by passers by

as were the voices asking “Why”

 

Then as the early fall of night

casts shadows on my failing sight

I’ll stand before a Wooden Cross

to contemplate their greatest loss