Poppies
Imagine a field of dead poppies, With a dead sun overhead, Imagine a field of dead poppies, Each petal freshly bled.
Imagine a field of dead poppies, And a bench sitting by the side, Sitting with a view of the poppies Whose memory never died
And in a few days' time, Nothing but bare barren earth, Lest we forget their death, Death for a new world’s rebirth,
Imagine a field of wild flowers, There where the poppies once fought, Imagine a field of wild flowers, Where poppies were once cut short.
I hope you enjoyed this late remembrance day poetry, and if you did be sure to like and check out my blog for more (Fred's Poetry Journal link here).
















