Fields

1917 Somewhere in Flanders field there lies A boy I knew so well, From the fading dream of golden days; We were friends from childhood, To the moment when he fell, Drifting down beyond the twilight haze. In scarlet cap with silver crest, I see his smiling face, Shining brightly through the passing play; From the playing fields of morning, To a dark and lonely place, Weeping, at the closing of the day.