Why are they selling Poppies, Mother, selling Poppies in town today?  The Poppies, child, are flowers of love for the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen Poppies, Mother, why not a beautiful rose?   Because, my child, men fought and died in the fields where poppies grow.

But why are poppies so red, Mother, why are poppies so red?  Red is the colour of blood my child, the blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the Poppy is black, Mother, why does it have to be black?  Black, my chid, is a symbol of grief for the men who never came back.

But why, Mother dear, are you crying? Your tears are like winter rain.  My tears are tears for you, my child, for the world is forgetting again!