Young Soldier

I dreamt of a handsome young soldier,

 Returning from war carrying his tatty backpack

Walking through fields of red poppies,

 Red as the blood shed on those ill-fated days

With a tear rolling down his left cheek,

He looked up to the sky and he cried

Seconds later he was smiling,

Drawing his last breath as he died

No more would he have to suffer

The pain & guilt of killing a man

At last he was free to behold

The freedom bequeathed on this land

At that moment my dream started fading,

 The picture was nothing but haze

Now, all I have is a memory

Of a dream about those ill-fated days