My remembrance poem

written by Harry Whitcomb's Great Grandaughter Leah Stone

When the winds stop blowing and the fields turn red,
That’s when we remember those who are dead.
The redness is not blood that our brave men lost,
But fields of poppies that came at great cost.
We remember the men courageous and proud,
And in turn we pray for them out loud.
‘Thou shalt not be forgotten and never will be,
Fore we have been blessed with the wonder of thee’.
So join me in remembering the soldiers that stay,            in the old battlefields still to this day.
Cherish and love them for braving war,
for we will remember them forever more.


Comments about this page

  • A lovely tribute Leah

    By David Bullock (14/11/2009)
  • What a wonderful poem to remember those who have fallen

    By Janet Hynes (Nee Blundell) (14/11/2009)
  • Thank you Leah for taking the time to pen such a lovely verse and for sharing it with us.

    By S. Thomas (10/02/2010)
  • Awesome 😀

    By D. Valentine (16/08/2011)
  • A lovely, well written poem Leah. It reminded me of one my granddaughter Lauren Barham (nee Renney) wrote and gave me a copy of twelve years ago when she was fourteen. She was studying History as one of her GCSE subjects and at that time they were covering World War Two. Here is that poem….

    Der Krieg……

    The War We stand thick in mud – dawn breaking, Lonely, scared, bewildered, hearts aching. We pray to God in darkest night, Yetmen began and men must end our plight. They shelled us all night and all day long, The enemies do fight with weapons strong. We wish all this fighting now would stop, But a whistle signals, I go ‘over the top’. I trudge across muddy no mans land To join my regiment – strong we stand. The new recruits fall willing, as they came, I fall too, a victim of the sniper’s aim. I was the German blacksmith who fought for his life, For my innocent parents, my daughter, my wife. Our turn to attack our foes, Wetrudge across fields where only poppies grow. Machine gunners mow the soldiers down, The dead lay scattered on the ground. We try to retreat, following our General’s call, But into a pit, deep, I fall. I breathe in quickly, in shock, I breathe in deeply, I cough. Gas was the new weapon that day, I perished, losing life in an untold, vicious way. I was the English student, I fought for peace, I fought for the unborn children – the children still to be.

    By Irene Bailey (nee Woodhouse) (18/08/2011)
  • Thank you guys for all of the lovely comments 🙂 I am also taking history as a GCSE, as well as both English’s, in which we have to study poems, which helped me to write this. In fact, this was homework, glad to say i got full marks 🙂

    By Leah Stone (15/09/2011)

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