THE POPPY
Agrimony renders thanks and gladness The primrose offers youth and sadness,
Harebells bring compliance and grief
Hawthorn espouses hope and belief,
Whilst bluebells stand for constancy,
White clover cries out ‘think of me.’
But of all the flowers in the wild,
The ancient gods were most beguiled,
By the poppy’s fields of red,
In memory of the glorious dead
Which brought the balm of consolation,
And solace to a grieving nation.
This dainty flower has, for years,
Been deluged by a sea of tears.
For it marks the sleep and death,
Of those who drew their final breath,
In battle with some alien foe,
In the fields where poppies grow.
This emblem’s one that’s easily seen,
In the wreathes of red and green,
Where the poppy plays its part,
And serves to soothe the aching heart.
A tribute worn with swelling pride,
Remembering those who fought and died.
Maggie Smart.
I have written this poem for Remembrance Day on the 11th of November.
You may wish to read last year’s poems, which many of you were kind enough to describe as ‘extremely moving’
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