And the poppies grow
between the rows
where the soldiers laid down their souls
and the ground is cold
and I’m feeling so old
with these flowers I gently hold
The wind, it starts to haunt me
with tales of long ago.
The brave ones who left their families,
they were much too far from home.
The young are asking questions
of war throughout the lands.
If only they would listen,
our world might stand a chance.
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