The Inquisitive Mind of a Child

I didn't write this, but I shall post it up here because I think that it's true - and it shouldn't be...

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

But why have they chosen Poppies, mummy?
Why not the beautiful Rose?
Because, my child, men fought and died,
In the fields where the Poppies grow.

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

The heart of the Poppy is black, mummy,
Why does it have to be black?
Black my child is the colour of grief,
For the men that never came back.

But why, mummy, are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you, my child,
For the world is forgetting again.