In the Tower fields the poppies blow Between the ghosts row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The ahamkara, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the battle in the dark below. We were the gaurdians Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw mercury's glow, Loved and were loved, and now we die In the Towers fields. Take up our quarrel with the fallen: To you from failing hands we throw The mida; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not rise, though poppies grow In the Tower fields.