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  • Writer's picturePhil


Remembrance Day: “The Inquisitive Mind of a Child”

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy? Selling poppies in town today? The poppies, child, are flowers of love For those who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy? Why not a beautiful rose? Because my child, they fought and died In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy? Why are the poppies so red? Red is the colour of blood, my child. The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy. Why does it have to be black? Black, my child, is the symbol of grief. For those who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so? Your tears are giving you pain. My tears are my fears for you my child. For the world is forgetting again.

That hour has come, as has that day, the Sunday's awe; The dead are still dead, the fighting carries on; Sacrifice, Brotherhood, Death. Till next year then, 11.11.22 At 11.

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