A picture of a poppy that tells a tale,
the blood of our forefathers up for sale.
A flower of remembrance defiled in vain,
an illusive symbol assisting ecomonic gain.
Yet in honour of those who fought for peace,
a poppy of hope that the war drums will cease,
is a poppy of love and not of spite.
Picture me with my poppy white.
See more of Katy’s poetry at her Alchemy of Anger blog