One January Evening

Revolution is growing
It grows with poppies
It grows with weeds
And the mother she smears
Her own blood in her children’s clothes
Revolution is growing
It grows with the stink
It grows with the garbage
And the people they cry
A loud wail nobody hears
Revolution is growing
It is inching towards the heaven
And add one more year to forbidden time
And ever the horizon is misty
If not for these crimson poppies with greens
It makes us so high we need no revolution
The only missing thing is a smoking partner.

Poppies in the sunset on Lake Geneva.
By Eric Hill, from Wikimedia Commons