The fields of corn were stained with red,
Because so many men had bled,
Then after rain -
A wondrous sight,
Those men rose up.
Their souls took flight.
And up through corn stalks
Something grew,
As poppies blossomed,
And we knew,
We would remember all these men,
That gave their lives for me and you.

The poppies blossomed,
Fields grew red.
Those men were brave,
And lives were shed.
Then peace came down
Upon the land
And no-one
Had to make a stand.
The birds came out
And poppies grew
Where men had shed their lives for you.

On eleventh of November then,
We had all lost so many men.
So bow your heads and pray out loud
For we had lost so large a crowd.
So on that date and on that hour,
Remember with a blood red flower.
And wear your poppy with such pride,
In memory of those men who died.