Beneath the Poppy Fields

The gentle whoosh of wind,
The elegant petal of a rose,
The dainty step of a child,
As they step through dandelions with their toes

The kind heart of a mother,
The soft tear of a friend,
The mournful sob of a lover,
It’s all the same in the end,

When that last bomb falls,
And this damn war end,
The gunshots ring,
Our hearts will not mend,

As we lie in the ground,
Our wounds will not heal,
Even underneath,
The sweet poppy fields.