Poppies

No great triumphal march
For lads like you;
No pasteboard victory arch,
No grand review.
In working raiment brown
You gave your best;
Then laid you weary down,
And took your rest.

But the great kindly earth,
That hid your face,
Gave all your triumph birth
Beside your resting-place.
The poppy armies blaze
Red in the holy loam,
And the lark's music plays
The victors home.

(J.B. Salmond - Poppies)