Descended from an ancient breed, she stands on guard with all her friends;

The sun and soil and rain she needs, she gathers as she gently bends

To rhythms only she can hear – the subtle throb of memories

As November days draw near; with every raw and lonesome breeze

She mourns anew in Flanders Fields. Hers the task to mark the place

Where courage bled; the past revealed that hatred has an ugly face;

Here she blooms beneath the sky, and dreams as stars bestow their rays,

That Peace will last for you and I, and Love take root as poppies sway.