Poppies Poem by Martin Ward

Poppy seeds were sleeping
beneath the untilled ground,
until the bombing and craters
and the whistling shells sound.
Scarlet armies came forth
from their slumbering beds;
given life from the killing
and watered by the dead.
Other seeds were woken too:
cornflowers of the French
in various hues of blue;
daisies for German remembrance.
Battlefields painted red,
unseen before to this extent
and soil stained by the dead
that poppies would represent.

Previously, a symbol of sleep
through the stupors of opium.
Greek and Roman flower of death
that grew on the plains of Elysium.
An ancient view of Heaven,
where heroes walked
amongst the flowers
in eternal blessedness.

The Common Poppy of Flanders Fields:
Papaver rhoeas still blooms;
no longer dormant in that land
and as a warning to where war looms.
We pray that its cultivars
keep to friendly borders,
cultivated by gardeners' hands,
detached from tyrants' orders.

Lest we forget those
who with best intentions,
made their supreme sacrifice
to teach us history's lessons.

Poppies: annual; biennial;
in garish blaze of glory.
Short-lived perennial
and scarlet infantry.
On parade once a year
and worn next to our hearts:
may you not fade in vibrancy,
nor lose the meaning you impart.