Poppies are stuck in the ground as am I in the trenches. They glow the blood like red as the general fades away, so please let the poppies fly. The gas sinks in as water flows in the beauties vain. The planes above are so like the bees, they always want something the constant buzz. So will you let poppies fly? Oh as the cold night keeps us woken we wonder what will the next day bring, though somewhere inside we know the next day the view will be the same…
Let the poppies fly.