This poem was written in 1976, for Remembrance Sunday (England's celebration honouring Armistice Day and those who died in "the wars")

Another year has passed us by,
no longer do we weep and cry
seeming endless tears to shed
in honour of heroic dead.
"I knew him well," you hear them say
as memories of those awful days, surface
to vividly haunt once more
the faces of those left behind.
Old men weep remembering comrades
left dead in farthest parts,
young people, too, salute them,
a place found in their hearts.
Wreaths laid on various statues
as regiments file past
let's hope they'll remind all men,
let the Great Wars be the last.
But that is wishful thinking
as men are a violent breed
and there's always one to make war
to satisfy his greed.
It may be greed for power,
or the wealth that it may bring
but based on pain and other's death,
it's not worth anything.
Please spare a thought for those who died in World Wars I and II,
Remember that they gave their lives to build a world for you.