Poppy

O sweet scarlet poppy how strong you do grow The earth has no finer flower I know I see you in fields by roadside or lay-bys Your seed is taken wherever the wind cries And where they fall they make their sweet bed And remind us all of Our Glorious Dead They were found scattered among Flanders field Where young soldier’s lives gladly did yield They speak of the horrors the hell of all war The rivers of blood the guts and the gore Sweet flower of the field your legacy goes on A symbol war of young lives that are now gone O scarlet flower of delicate red Reminder of Our Glorious Dead (Here in the UK poppies are worn every Armistice Day)