The poppies for Remembrance Day,
Harboured a little stowaway,
Tucked out of sight, until we slept,
Then from her hiding place she crept,
And set to work, amidst the flowers,
To weave her lovely silken bower.
Next morn, when I came down the stairs,
I spied her sitting sweetly there.
But there the lady couldn’t stay,
The flowers were for school that day.
I picked her up and begging pardon,Returned her gently to the garden.