As
I was walking slowly,
On
one November day,
I
saw people wearing poppies,
As
they walked along their way.
I’d
seen the same thing last year,
And
all the years before,
But
the only thing I knew about it,
Was
it was something to do with war.
I
stopped and stood there silent,
Looked
at this tired old man,
Asked
what I thought was simple,
“Will
you help me if you can?”
“Would
you please give me a moment?
And
explain to me that flower,
Why
so many of you wear it,
At
this November hour?”
He
looked directly at me,
With
eyes that seemed so wet,
And
said, “My son I’ll tell you,
They
mean we don’t forget.”
“Back
when my father was a boy,
He
went to another land,
He
was so lucky to return,
But
he was a different man.”
“You
see dear lad, he’d gone to war,
And
seen those poppies fields,
Run
red and stained with blood of friends,
And
from that he never healed.”
“When
father’s war was ended,
On
a November day,
He
began to wear a poppy,
To
remember those who stayed.”
“For
so many of his comrades,
Were
left behind to lie,
In
poppies fields forever,
Not
a chance to say good-bye.”
“Now
the poppy flower reminds us,
Of
what those young men gave,
As
they lay in bloodied battlefields,
And
went unto their grave”
“Yes,
the poppy is remembrance,
That
all the death and pain,
Will
never be forgotten,
And
never seen in vain.”
“So
now in each November,
On
the eleventh day,
We
all do wear a poppy,
And
remember as we pray.”
“Pray
for those souls departed,
And
for all they saw,
As
they fought so many battles for us,
In
whatever was their war.”
---oooOOOooo---
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Dark
Blue Knight
3rd
November 2006
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