Humbled Poem by Nick Jordan.

A carpet of bluebells
Adorns my feet,
Like a million fans
Staring up at me.

Swaying synchronised,
gracefully indiscreet,
Like I'm the main act
that they're here to see.

The forest ceiling impartially covered
With branches that oscillate in the wind,
The insects bombinate,
As I contemplate leaving,
I rescind.

I notice a flower,
That's stood still
To empower,
My emotional duress
At this time.

A lone daffodil
Standing elegantly still,
That Nods me off
towards somewhere sublime.

When I exit the forest
A crowd greets to meet me,
An audience of pure sunshine.

A field full of rape,
Like a yellowy drape,
Covering a hill
Old as time.

As I walk on farther,
I find a field red as lather,
Which accounts for a prominent scene.
A field full of Poppy's
Like eminent copies,
Of the paper ones
Cut from machine.

When I think of what this flower
Represents,
I'm in awe and humbled by it's elegance,
And overcome with a sense of pride,
For every single selfless soldier,
That's given his or her life and died.