FabSwingers.com forum: Poppy

By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago

Please buy a Poppy, the lady said,

And held one out, but I shook my head.

I stopped and watched her standing there,

Her face was old and lined with wear,

`Beneath the scars, the years had made,

Remained a smile that did not fade.

A boy came whistling down the street

Bouncing along on carefree feet.

His smile was full of joy and fun,

“Lady” said he, can I have one.

She pinned it on and he turned to say

Why do we wear a Poppy today?

The lady smiled without a flaw,

“For all the boys who died in war.

Because they did, we are free

So we wear this Poppy, you see.”

I had a boy about your size

With golden hair and big blue eyes,

He loved to play and jump and shout

Free as a bird, he would race about.

The years went by, he learnt and grew,

As, in time, you will too!

When war broke out, he went away,

All I could do was wait and pray.

His letters told of the awful fight,

Which, I can see, in dreams at night.

Tanks and bombs and cruel barbed wire,

Bullets and mines, screams and fire.

The fields were gone, the land all bare,

Yet seedlings spouted from their lair.

The Poppy grew and flowered red,

And breathed sweet perfume upon the dead.

The soldiers saw this sight with awe

Which gave them strength to fight the war.

Until at last, the war was won,

“That’s why we wear a Poppy, son ".

“The small boy turned as if to go,

Thanks Lady", I’m so glad to know,

That sure did sound an awful fight

Was your son safe, and so alright.

She shook her head but didn't speak

A tear rolled down each faded cheek,

I slunk away, so full of shame,

If you were me, you”d do the same.

Our thanks in giving is oft delayed,

Our freedom bought and thousands paid.

So when you see a Poppy worn,

Reflect upon the burden borne.

By those who gave their very all

When asked to answer, Country's call.

So buy a Poppy for all who died,

And show it clearly with great pride.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"Please buy a Poppy, the lady said,

And held one out, but I shook my head.

I stopped and watched her standing there,

Her face was old and lined with wear,

`Beneath the scars, the years had made,

Remained a smile that did not fade.

A boy came whistling down the street

Bouncing along on carefree feet.

His smile was full of joy and fun,

“Lady” said he, can I have one.

She pinned it on and he turned to say

Why do we wear a Poppy today?

The lady smiled without a flaw,

“For all the boys who died in war.

Because they did, we are free

So we wear this Poppy, you see.”

I had a boy about your size

With golden hair and big blue eyes,

He loved to play and jump and shout

Free as a bird, he would race about.

The years went by, he learnt and grew,

As, in time, you will too!

When war broke out, he went away,

All I could do was wait and pray.

His letters told of the awful fight,

Which, I can see, in dreams at night.

Tanks and bombs and cruel barbed wire,

Bullets and mines, screams and fire.

The fields were gone, the land all bare,

Yet seedlings spouted from their lair.

The Poppy grew and flowered red,

And breathed sweet perfume upon the dead.

The soldiers saw this sight with awe

Which gave them strength to fight the war.

Until at last, the war was won,

“That’s why we wear a Poppy, son ".

“The small boy turned as if to go,

Thanks Lady", I’m so glad to know,

That sure did sound an awful fight

Was your son safe, and so alright.

She shook her head but didn't speak

A tear rolled down each faded cheek,

I slunk away, so full of shame,

If you were me, you”d do the same.

Our thanks in giving is oft delayed,

Our freedom bought and thousands paid.

So when you see a Poppy worn,

Reflect upon the burden borne.

By those who gave their very all

When asked to answer, Country's call.

So buy a Poppy for all who died,

And show it clearly with great pride."

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By *hubnwife_36dd_ukCouple
over a year ago

chester

Brilliant post and should be printed on a board by each poppy seller.

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By *eliciousladyWoman
over a year ago

Sometimes U.K

Did you write this OP?

It’s a lovely poem and a reminder to those who didn’t realise what poppies and 11/11 is all about

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By *imiUKMan
over a year ago

Hereford

I wear a poppy, but the above post is utter shite.

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By *dward_TeagueMan
over a year ago

wolverhampton

I can’t add any words that do justice to the thousands of ordinary people that paid the ultimate sacrifice.

A two minute silence somehow feels inadequate this year of all years so today as in all days people like us on this board exist with a freedom that you all fought for and we respect and remember you all with gratitude and admiration.

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By *imiUKMan
over a year ago

Hereford

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

D*unk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

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By *uzy444Woman
over a year ago

in the suffolk countryside

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

D*unk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

i'm wearing a white poppy for peace in life, worldwide

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