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.