Flanders Poppies

• Alayna Johnston, Grade 5
• Poetry
• 2022

The petals crimson red,
Remind us of the dead.
They took the time to grow,
For our friends and foe.
Sometimes we are haunted.
Others we are daunted.
Laughing times and happiness,
Burned through into sadness.
We'd love to see lost family members,
As yearning grows from sorrow’s embers.
Blood has been spilled,
And many people killed.
Fields of bright crimson red
Are everything that should be said.
Honouring us and them.
We will remember them.