The Poppy

In fields where silence bows its head,  
Red petals bloom, a blood-wrought thread,  
Each poppy whispers tales untold,  
Of brave young souls, both fierce and bold.  

Through trenches deep, where shadows creep,  
They stood against the tide, no sleep,  
With hearts aflame, their courage bright,  
They forged a path through darkest night.  

Oh, let us bow, in quiet grace,  
For every life, for every face,  
Each poppy tells of loss and pain,  
Yet sprinkles hope through trembling rain.  

In gardens where remembrance grows,  
The fragile beauty softly glows,  
A promise made, we will not forget,  
With every bloom, our hearts be met.  

So wear the poppy, bright and true,  
In honor of the brave and many,  
For in its red, the heartbeats chime,  
A legacy of love, transcending time.