These red poppies,

There will never be copies,

For the men who went to war,

Because of the law,

People come to look,

They despise the crook,

To these brave men,

People write their stories with a pen,

These poppies stand on English ground,

Never to go brown,

They country is proud,

We take this and sing it out loud,

They saw blood,

Mixed with mud,

They saw friends die,

While others survive,

Some died looking at the battle field,

While others survived with a shield,

Every year in November,

People will remember,

These red poppies,

There will never be copies,