The Poppy, in Flanders Field,
The flower in which we yield.
This plant, in which we see,
Sorrowful, we can all be.
We wear this poppy, on Armistice Day,
To remember those, who fought in this way.
Those who fought, those who died,
For our country, in which they guide.
We did not want it to end this way,
But so many died on VE Day.
Yet, with our efforts, we seemed to have won,
And the last person pulled out their gun.
The Poppy, in Flanders Field,
The flower in which we yield.
This plant, in which we see,
Sorrowful, we can all be.
