By Ava Jean
There once was a time where the earth was full of war, death and wrath.
Dead soldiers went for miles on to form a vengeful path.
But there was a single little sprout, a little peaceful thing and if you stood there long enough, you could hear a tiny ring.
It was a wartime poppy and as peaceful as it might have been, it brought sadness and sorrow to all who heard its sin.
“Please help me now!” it whispered, “I need to live” it said “for I am Wartime Poppy and I contain the souls of the dead.”
The soldiers’ moods darkened at the poppy’s vengeful cries, for all of them knew well that Wartime Poppy told no lies.
A soldier saw a puddle and he cupped his musty hands, and he sprayed and splashed some water onto Wartime Poppy’s land.
The poppy glowed and stretched up tall and shook out all its’ petals and soldiers ran away with their guns of wood and metal.
The poppy swayed in sudden draft and lost its’ unearthy glow.
One man pulled out the poppy and another shouted “no!”