In the valley of poppies death lingers in the air,
Heavy a burden for bypassing traveller to bear.
Mist glides noiselessly over dull green slopes,
Crushing ever-dwindling hopes.
The beauty of the silent flowers,
Hides their fearsome, deadly powers.
For just a whiff of their fragrant scent,
Sends a traveller on death’s descent.
Few burrowers roam the land,
But those who do are close at hand.
Ever weary as death glides past,
They cling to life until the last.
But their fears are not in vein,
For deaths assistant is their bane.
Claws of steel; eyes so red,
Never a tear to shed,
Body swift; coat of coal,
In his chest no heart but hole.
The fearsome wolf the land does roam,
In the valley he calls his home.
In the valley of the poppies death lingers in the air,
Too heavy a burden for traveller to bear.
