Remembrance Day

For today a repeat of a post from two years ago.

Remembrance Day

Poppies gleam amongst the gold as glints of scarlet thread.
'It's Rosemary for remembrance,' was all the old man said.
The beaches soft of palest sand are cleansed by each new wave.
Long, straight rows of chalk white stone, regimented graves.
The flowers bow their crimson heads and whisper in the wheat,
Petals fall like blood red tears, shimmering in the heat.
Seagulls scream out the last post while wheeling overhead.
'It's Rosemary for remembrance,' was all the old man said.
Children clamber on a tank still frozen in its track,
few pause to read the words written on the plaque.
Where the heavy boots once marched now children laugh and play,
and the sun is the only casualty at the dying of the day.
Outside the cafe by the bridge the old man sipped his tea.
'It's Rosemary for remembrance,' was all he said to me.

(C) Nell Dixon 2004