A crimson red poppy bright and bold,
with an interesting untold story to behold
In the dull grey crowd,
the poppies stand proud.

A kaleidoscope of ruby red,
remembrance of where dead
soldiers bled.

Touching soldiers souls with mourn and
miss, one more husband not to kiss.
As one more poppy falls on the floor,
and a fathers son doesn’t open the door.

Just remember the 11th month of the
11th day of the 11th hour.