A wild flower grew at the side of the road
Among the weeds so high
It grew along among brambles and thorns
And looked up into the sky.
A man passed down that road one day
Bearing a cross of wood.
And suddenly he staggered and fell
Right where the wild flower stood.
His whip lashed body lay prone on the ground
In the dirt, and the stones,and mud
The wild flower bent it's white head down
And became crimson with His blood.
Came the thunder, lightening and earthquake
Heavy rain began to fall
But three days later when the sun shone
The flower stood stately and tall.
Passers-by stopped to admire her
One gently touched her head
But only the wild flower knew the secret
Of why the Poppy is red.
Sent in by her daughter, Pauline Richard --- Ontario, Canada