White Poppy Stained.

by | Nov 8, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

One by one the red petals fall,
In there place a cross stands tall,
A name carved on the front,
And reading it brings a tearful lump.

“Here lies a soldier unknown,
Who gave his life for a land of stone,
He rushed the guns on that fateful day,
And with his life he did pay.

There’s a flower that we use now,
That blossoms in those fields somehow
Even after all that discharged might,
Springs such a beautiful sight.

We remember those that fight and fought,
Who sold their lives with freedom bought,
The poppy was first white now red,
Stained with the blood of the honoured dead.


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