One Red Poppy


Now there’s only space, for just one more,

red poppy, in the field.

One for the last of those brave boys, who have yet to yield,

to times ever onward march,

across that battle, we call life.

But it is he, who survived, a far much greater strife,

the mud, the death they called, The Great War,

fighting Britain’s foe,

the slaughter in the trenches,

only he could know.

And now, you march towards that ultimate roll call,

your colleagues waiting silent, proud, already on parade,

how can we salute you, with a final cavalcade.

Is our only salute to be each Remembrance Day,

when we stand in silent prayer,

our thanks we quietly say,

as those poppies dance,

their blood red heads,

in the Flanders fields of corn;

we celebrate the gift you gave,

it is no longer time to mourn,

there is little left to say, for we know,

that for our tomorrow, you gave us, your today.




© david holmes 2009

For Harry Patch, John Holmes and

all those brave men and women who heard the call

and marched bravely and silently to defend our land our freedom

and our democracy

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