Poppy

Grown in such inhospitable ground
Petals of pity trembling in battle's breeze
Pity for all that's lost, for all in the grip of blind force
Pity for every soul torn, for the weight of unrelenting remorse
Distressed soil of forgotten fields your home

The earth weeping the blood in which your seed is sown
Pick the poppy, make its death your own
Wear it close to your heart, walk on
But do not look for peace
It is the shoes on your feet