The Inquisitive Mind Of A Child
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 the poppy, mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because, my child, men fought and died
In the field where 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 symbol of grief
For the men who never came back
But why mummy, are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain
My tears are for you, my child
For, the world is – FORGETTING AGAIN
The fields around the Ulster Tower from May are red with the poppies blowing in the wind.