Wet Poppy

Wet Poppy

A wet poppy sodden on a dirty street
Trodden on by a thousand feet
A memory for a day and then forgotten
Cast down and trod on by a thousand men

An old soldier tired in a dark front room
His death on the cards but won’t come to soon
He remembers his pals and their sepia smiles
And he remembers each step of a thousand miles

What do the memories matter to you?
Too busy for silence, was it worth it for you?
While he sleeps he is burgled and wakes in the day
To the sound of a coward scrambling away

If it’s war then you feel he’s no longer a use
But maybe his son will be more good to you
And you’d take him and if by some luck he survived
He’d be trampled just like his poor dad

On a wet street a soldier rattles a box
Still fighting, why should he be out there at all?
Years in the cold and you still ask for more
And he shivers and listens to the streets footsteps fall