There is a poppy on the wall
Of the old spring camp,
I don’t know how long it has been there
I caught its glow in the old oil lamp.
The colour had not faded much
It was the deepest red I’d seen,
I wondered who wore this upon their chest
On an army coat of green.
How old were they then?
Leaving their families behind,
Fighting in the many wars
That were raging at that time.
Did they feel cold and alone?
In the depths of all that despair,
Wondering if it was worth their life
Did anyone really care.
Did you think of the enemy?
Who were fighting just the same,
All of those who lost their lives
With only tags, that held their names.
Oh little red poppy pinned to the wall
I will not forget you there,
thank you all for your service
I pray my thoughts you hear.
Editor’s Note: The writer penned this while sitting on the porch of an old cabin this fall. She saw an old poppy pinned to the wall. It was an older version of the poppy and no one knew how long it has been there. She is a resident of Whitewater Region.