A poppy’s plaground
You are the lonely poppy waiting to be picked as your petals glisten above soldiers who fought bravely.
You are the living among the dead with your shiny crimson red.
You are a poppy bringing sadness and agony when picked up.
You are the symbolism of death,destruction and war that happened before.
You are the glistsning discarded bullets strewn across battlefields.
You are the future in the sacrifice of life.
You are a bruised finger of an American soldier in war.
You are

the end kind of like this poem.