The poem you quote at the end is actually by
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae of the Canadian Medical Corps who served and died in World War I.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
1916 - Motorhead
16 years old when I went to the war
To fight for a land fit for heroes
God on my side, and a gun in my hand
Chasing my days down to zero
And I marched and I fought and I bled
And I died and I never did get any older
But I knew at the time that a year in the line
Was a long enough life for a soldier
We all volunteered
And we wrote down our names
And we added two years to our ages
Eager for life and ahead of the game
Ready for history’s pages
And we brawled and we fought
And we whored ‘til we stood
10, 000 shoulder to shoulder
A thirst for the Hun
We were food for the gun
And that’s what you are when you’re soldiers
I heard my friend cry
And he sank to his knees, coughing blood
As he screamed for his mother
And I fell by his side
And that’s how we died
Clinging like kids to each other
And I lay in the mud
And the guts and the blood
And I wept as his body grew colder
And I called for my mother
And she never came
Though it wasn’t my fault
And I wasn’t to blame
The day not half over
And 10, 000 slain, and now
There’s nobody remembers our names
And that’s how it is for a soldier