Poppies

Flying, floating,
Through the breazing cold.
Heads thinking straight,
Hearts made of bold.

Unbreakable hopes,
Of staying alive.
Families wating,
With faith on the thrive.

Many souls dying,
Many souls dead.
Our victories won,
Because many men bled.

Cannons exploding,
Bodies flying past.
Friends hurting bad,
Because of a blast.

The war was dying itself,
The battle a snag.
Winners were proud,
When waving their flag.

The poppies now grow,
Where the bodies once lay.
Where the men fought hard,
With skies of gray.