“The poppied fields of Flanders?”
“Poppied fields of—” ain’t that a heluva—
But who wants ’em brung back—huh?
Say, buddy,
If she’d seen poppies
Like I’ve seen ’em—millions—acres—
Scattered through the wheat-fields,
Red—and gettin’ redder—mostly poppies—
Yeah—mostly!
Slim—my buddy—old scout