Beginning on October 19th, 1914, one of the bloodiest battles of World War One was fought near Ypres in Belgium. This poem, while written from a young German soldier’s point of view, is a tribute to all those who lost their lives during that terrible forty days.

Crisp the autumn breeze that combs this foggy air,
Slowly creeping through these Belgian fields;
A bitter breath of coming winter, we taste the morning dew
Whose frosty edge foretells harsh winter’s yields.

Short months ago, we studied French in Hamburg
And now we wait to kill the blue-coat foe;
Our great Kaiser called to fill his grey-green army,
And we who answered soon shall be death’s blow!

Whispered calls for orders now stir our muddy ranks,
Whose listless banners rise with anticipation;
The average age a mere eighteen, we hunger for this fight
Our youth a grim conductor to damnation!

Crisp the autumn breeze that combs this foggy air,
Yet tinged with burning cordite and falling ash;
A bitter breath of eternal winter, we scream in bloody fields
Whose loam lies scarred by war’s unending gash!

Forty days of hell on earth, this battle for the Ypres
Just one in three will taste first winter’s snow!
A massacre of the innocents, a generation lost at war
We lived and died where Flanders’ poppies grow.