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,
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: