Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Poppies are also for you.....

I wrote this the other day, well, you can see which day.  I wrote it because I had to.  It was in me, and it needed out.  It's the first thing I've written in a long while that has stayed with me, and that I am really quite proud of.  In a way, I've got the courage from the Chillpod.  Nothing has to be the way it was.  I don't have to sit on this grief forever.

If you know us, you'll recognise the story.  If you don't know us, then it's for you as well.  For any child whose Daddy or Mummy put on that uniform, and went and did their job, and one day, for whatever reason, just didn't make it home.  The previous post tells you how this is affecting the Adorable Child at the moment, which is also why I've not been on here for a bit.


For Rich.

Poppies are also for you.

You did not die in Flanders fields, nor yet in desert sand.
You did not breathe your last looking at a foreign land.
You were not flown home to me, whilst crowds stood silent by,
And yet for Queen and country, you were prepared to die.

The boy child wears no medal, for that was sent away,
Instead he holds my hand on another Remembrance Day. 
His face looks up towards me, the same question in his eye,
“It isn’t fair” he tells me, “It’s not fair Mummy, why?”

I have no words to answer him, as the bugler starts to play,
And our minds are taken back to another sunny day,
Where the curtains closed around you, with your hat and bayonet proud,
And that same voice said “One more look?” amidst the silent crowd.

A silent crowd stands here again, for the Forces from the past,
For all the Forces that still serve, because still the conflict lasts.
The sea of red grows wider as the poppy wreaths are laid,
 As we remember those who the price of freedom paid.

And we remember those like you, who did not die in glory,
Not for you the heroes death, just an ending to your story.
Just an absence in our lives, an ache that does not leave,
Just the tears rolling down, as once more we grieve.

But tell them all in Heaven’s mess, that we remember still,
That all we do is through their gift, through their strength of will,
That they were not afraid of death, and from danger did not hide,
And that we shall not forget, but remember them with pride.

But also, tell those who just ‘passed on’ that they are heroes too,
Whether old and in their beds, or in accidents like you,
That the loss was just as keen, as they left and went away,
And that the poppies are for them as well, on this Remembrance Day.


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