I start my life in a cardboard tray,

Waiting to be sold on Poppy Day.

Surrounded by petals and stalks of green,

Hung round the neck of a volunteer so keen.

He rattles his tin wanting money galore,

But nobody buys me and it's quarter to four.

As the sun goes down and the air is raw

I'm grabbed by a gent with a hairy paw.

As he pins me to his grey woollen coat,

A strange husky noise emerges from his throat.

He tells his friend of his bloody war,

And how Poppy Day helps people more and more.

So when you see me in a cardboard tray,

Dig deep in your pockets and help Poppy Day.

Valerie Hart  October 2006.