Poppy and Me.


I walk through fields of Red Soft Poppy Flowers softly they brush against my legs like fingers of every nation nationality, colour and race. All manner of the human being told by another to hate another to kill him or her because of religion or their beliefs. The crying poppy tears of pain washed away by gods rain. The warm sun glow shines down on them, they brush against each other English, German, Russian, American, Japanese, African, Australia India.

They speak the same now telling of how they all came to fall in a foreign land miles from their birth place, some on land more at sea, desert, in the jungle some never to be found. Your here now with us safe and sound. We are one. No more War shells fired in Anger.

We will multiply but never as many as died every minute hour in the Great War. Climb that ladder lad or you will be shot where you stand, don’t be afraid you may get 2 feet from here then hit by metal, then you will be a statistic written in a book for us to read, not knowing your pain or suffering.

Blow now Poppy tell your story of peace man standing together in unity singing songs of joy no more crying just Red leaf with smiles and love gently they brush my leg its not time for me.

Categories:The Poppy, War and PeaceTags: , , ,
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