The Poppy

A war raged through, Europe's heart, Destruction reigned, lives were torn apart. On the battlefields, where soldiers once tread, A delicate flower blossomed, of the deepest red. There's a symbol of hope, in this delicate flower, It's not a symbol of politics, death, religion or power. It doesn't represent, a support of war, It's worn in remembrance, of what's gone before. Flourishing in honour, of those that fell, They have their own story to tell. This delicate flower, bloomed and survived, To be worn in remembrance and with pride.