They made a day picking poppies and a picnic
Sandwiches and wine, cheese, ham and grapes
The days seemed to linger for them, so fair
A gentle kind of warm with a slight breeze
The Elysian fields could be no better
Who cares about the weather
For when you are with your mother
All you are doing is picking flowers
Eating fruit and drinking juice
The world is lush in leisure
What could go wrong
In this earth bound version of paradise
Nature wrapped in pleasure
Except your mother might remember
Poppy fields of Belgium,
Where the flower of youth died
Maybe she comes for a reason
Much different than your own
Maybe she remembers
Seasons of youth
Once thought everlasting
Of lives cut short
Falling in poppy fields
For no real good purpose
