A great sea of crimson, swirls around ancient walls.
Erect as a soldier that each one depicts.
Proud and beautiful as that young soul
Who died to save others, a hundred years ago.
Over eight hundred and eighty eight thousand
Lovingly crafted and planted in the tower’s moat.
A tribute to the memory, of mistaken young men
Who thought the Great War would end all wars.
Like the aspirations, of our lost youth, that once flourished;
These blooms are systematically being removed.
Each one sold, giving hope to those unfortunate others,
Who in conflict, through generations, are brothers.