A man and a girl sit on a hill,
There is no breeze, the grass is still.
The fading sunlight of the day,
Lights up the poppies on the way.
Why do the poppies grow?
Asks the girl to her grandfather.
His eyes glaze over, The mists of time.
"The poppies are good friends of mine.
For on this field, years ago
The bombs and shells did drop like snow.
The men they fell like dying cattle,
Their departing choir the rifles rattle.
I had to stand and watch them die,
No others said not one goodbye.
Their deaths were quick,
came to an end.
But the hearts back home,
Will never mend.
And this is why the poppies grow,
To show their love for all who know.
That those who die don't die in vain,
They died so our hearts could beat again.