Poem 1Don't be ashamed to cry. Here is my poem:
Flying high are bullets zooming,
As some poppy seeds are blooming.
Children cry as the train starts to go ,
As the poppy starts to grow.
A new home, they look around,
As a poppy stands high out of the ground.
They wash up their plates with soapy suds,
Red as rubies are poppy buds.
When you feel sick or small,
Remember the poppies, standing tall.
What comes with poppies is some pride,
As you remember those who died.
Thank you for reading. Please comment if you found it moving.