Now that poppy selling’s past,
I’ve got some more free time at last;
No getting up at crack of dawn
For poppy selling every morn.
No rushing off when evenings come
And standing till my feet are numb.
No weekends spent with poppy trays,
Selling them on both the days.
All that is past until next year,
When poppies will again appear,
And I’ll be there again once more,
As in so many years before.
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