The world is forgetting again...

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
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, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
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, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.

SW-User

In Flanders Fields
John McCrae - 1872-1918

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

LeopoldBloom · M

The sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the shame,
The killing and dying, it was all done in vain,
Oh Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

ProfessorPlum77 · 70-79, MVIP

Sad, but true.
It seems fitting that the author of this poem is unknown.