Why are they selling poppies mother, selling poppies in town today?
The poppies child are flowers of love for the men who marched away.
But why have they chosen a poppy mother, why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died in fields where the poppies grow.
But why are the poppies so red mother, why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child, the blood that our soldiers shed.
The heart of the poppy is black mother, why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief, for the men who never came back
But why, mother dear, are you crying so?
Your tears are like winter rain.
My tears are for you, my child, for the world is forgetting again.