The Poppy

Want not the poppy
O, sweet child
For it will make you ill
 
The vibrance of our youth
Yields itself to winter’s grey
Swing sets lie abandoned
Where as children we would play
No laughter haunts this bitter breeze
No sing-song to and fro
Buried are the memories
Entombed beneath the snow
 
Eat not the poppy
O, sweet child
They have been known to kill
 
The chill that grips the night
Amplifies the frosted moon
Candles lit in darkness
Burning decades still too soon
The mother calls for whom she will
They say she knows the best
Fret not the minor details, child
The time has come to rest
 
Beware the poppy
O, sweet child