Poetry Book By WhenAHeartLacksLove©

Poppies are Red,
Like the blood splattered fields,
Lined with the dead.
Lives lost...
For no apparent cost,
Fighting for their country.
We all remember,
In November,
The wars that have past,
And the one's that still last.
But yet the blood still run's,
And so does the sound of the gun's,
Fighting to the bitter end,
And losing countless
Families and Friends.
Fighting just to end up dead,
So many a messed up head.
So many different lights,
And so many heart wrenching sights.
Alone..
...Only when dead..
Its okay ..
You'll go home.
To mother's tear's,
You'll confirm your familie's worse fear's...
Poppies are Red,
Like the blood splattered field's,
Lined with the dead.