Why do I wear a poppy?
I’ll tell you, if I may?
Because I believe remembrance is not only for one day.
I wear it for the fallen, and for all those falling still.
For those who come back broken, in body or in will.
For the parents, spouses, siblings, where bereavement takes its toll. …
Whose pain will never leave them,… it eats into their soul.
For the wino on the corner, of his old life nothing’s left.
How he wishes when in battle, he had died a hero’s death.
For the lad who loved a kick-about, in the park with all his mates.
But now his legs are held together with pins and metal plates.
For those selfless men and women, whose final journey home,
Is in a Union flag-draped coffin, on comrades’ shoulders borne.
For all those marching proudly In Remembrance Sunday parades,
My poppy’s worn in gratitude, for the sacrifice they made.
Another lovely tribute.
Excellent.
Brilliant.
Ken.
Thought provoking, Thank-you.
What can you say? My grandad fought in the 1st war and survived his brother killed. Five uncles of mine fought in the 2nd. Two came back. A lad i went to school with was shot down and killed in his plane, 3 mates were killed in Northern Ireland. I pay lots for my poppy
Lovely. 
This is my song
It’s a long way from Gorgie
To the fields o’ the Somme
Where they played tunes of glory
As we marched along
The pals o’ the Sporting Battalion
From the Heart of Midlothian
To the Waverly train
The crowds they were singing
An auld Scots refrain
Our sweethearts and darlings
Our bonnie wee bairns
Were waving their flags
And calling our names
Sing Hearts of Glory
Dawn and sunset
Hearts of glory
Lest we forget
Young Scottish soldiers
And soldiers unknown
Who gave hearts of glory
In the trenches of Picardy
The whistles are blown
And it’s over the top lads
Through the wire and the bombs
To pain and destruction
Let the piper play
To lead us to hell
To death and dismay
There was never a moment
I was not afraid
But there by my side
Were the gallant McCrae’s
Until they fell in the slaughter
When the bayonets were out
And the few of us left
Held the auld Scots Redoubt
Ellis and Currie
Briggs, Boyd, Hazeldean
Wattie and Nisbet
He was only sixteen
Their names I’ll remember
At the end of each day
They fought and died
Wi’ Geordie McCrae
Who cared for the Kaiser
Or Imperial gains
Love of our country
Duty or fame?
Between the whim of an airman
And four feathers of shame
We fought for the pals
Of a wee fitba team
And when it was over
Just what had we done?
There were no flags of glory
For McCrae and his own
There were no graves for heroes
For our brothers and sons
Who sleep 'neath the flowers
In the fields of the Somme
Some came back as cripples
Some couldnae kick a ball
Some wounded and broken
Most came not at all
But they remain in my memory
Forever young
The pals o’ the Sporting Battalion
They joined for many reasons,
to march, to sail, to fly.
They went where they were posted
but no-one joins to die.
Their leaders talk on TV
what else could we have done?
But those leaders lost no daughters
and none has lost a son.
So heres to all our soldiers
wherever they may be…
and heres to all their families,
I raise a glass to thee…
Wear your Poppy with Pride