You will not grow this poppy
In carefully tended soil
Or gently weeded borders
So do not waste your toil
Put away your gardening tools
Your spade, your fork, your rake
Do not waste your fancy pots
By making this mistake
Believing you will cultivate
This gracefully-nodding plant
To show off to your neighbours
For your payment will be scant
Put away your fancy thoughts
You’ll work for no reward
Do not waste the daydreams
That will never strike a chord
You will not grow this poppy
In carefully-tended soil
Or gently-weeded borders
So, do not waste your toil
This poppy grows in No-Man’s Land
Its soil disturbed in tons
Instead of water, pour on blood
From the wrath of a thousand guns
For fertilizer, feed it bones
And from death, life will spring
A swathe of vermillion, scarlet, crimson
To camouflage mankind’s sins
A blanket of red now comforts we dead
Us long-forgotten lads
Lost in action to the merciless guns:
Husbands, brothers, sons, and dads
* * * * *
(Saturday, 27th October 2018)