Red Poppies
Born of the blood of heroes... shed,
They are watching devoted near the graves,
Dressing up the altar of those who now are dead,
Dancing free in the wind, no longer slaves!
Like the flames of fire flooding the fields again,
With their fragile bodies adorning the earth,
A sweet perfume in the summer's rain,
A place of hope, a place for the new birth,
With their red tears, the fields are watered
and, even though they are still sad, they sing
With their heart exhausted, shattered,
After any winter is always coming spring!
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