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
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.