Submitted by Tudor Davies in the 18+ category

Little Poppies who face their fate:

face cowards, stewards – heads of state;

wise men too big to care a jot,

too damned to know a beauty spot,

too low to face the dying rate.

Men’s hearts are blocked, they won’t mutate

to flower power’s love, not hate.

With every boom we lose a tot,

Little Poppies.

In sunny days we pulled our weight,

a welcome door, part-open gate,

but still they call: forget-me-not

as superpowers ploy and plot;

and we do care, they cannot wait:

Little Poppies.