Tucked beneath the hedgerow’s shade
Safe away from combine’s blade,
She braves the gusting winds, her view
Across the field ploughed a-new.
Un-trampled by the hiker’s boot,
In her single breasted suit
Of brightest red. Fragile but proud,
Beneath this winter gun-grey cloud,
The poppy’s purpose to remind you
Of World Wars’ One and Two,
And soldiers who still fight today
In Afghanistan and far away.
We’ll stand silent, an hour before noon,
Remembering those that fell too soon,
And die today to make us safe.
In her field, the crimson waif,
On the Eleventh of November,
The poppy helps us to remember.
© Alex Barton 2012