In fields where whispers ride the breeze,
The poppies stand in gentle ease.
With petals red as sunset’s glow,
They guard the tales of long ago.

Each blossom sways with silent grace,
A sentinel in nature’s embrace.
They speak of love, of loss, of strife,
The fleeting moments of our life.

Beneath their blooms, the earth does keep,
The dreams that those before did weep.
They bloom anew with each sunrise,
Reminding us where beauty lies.

So let the poppies ever grow,
In fields where memories can flow.
For in their presence, we can see,
The past, the present, and what will be.