Some scarlet poppies lay upon our right. <br />He watched them through his periscope all day. <br />He watched then all the day; but in the night <br />They seemed to pass away. <br /> <br />They came again much redder with the morn’ <br />And still he gazed, and strangely longed to roam <br />Among their savage splendour in the corn, <br />And ponder on his home. <br /> <br />But when the charge was done, they found him <br />there <br />Deep in the redness, where he’d made his stand, <br />With withered poppies in his twisted hair, <br />And poppies in his hand.<br /><br />Leon Gellert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poppies-11/
