Wearing a white poppy ...

The last post sounded in the church - 

I'd come forward with my wreath - 

I wore my white poppy - 

Earlier I'd seen a young man in khaki - 

He wore the uniform of those who'd gone to France - 

He though was living, carrying his rife - 

Breathing the same air as those around him - 

The Councillors, the townspeople, the wreath bearers - 

Reminding us of the dead ones - 

If we turned round, we'd see them - 

We'd smell their air - 

We'd feel the weight of all their names - 

We'd find the words stolen from our tongues - 

15.00

Sunday 11 November 2018

Swanage