As Poppies Sway

 

crinkled poppy.jpg

Descended from an ancient breed, she stands on guard with all her friends;

The sun and soil and rain she needs, she gathers as she gently bends

To rhythms only she can hear – the subtle throb of memories

As November days draw near; with every raw and lonesome breeze

She mourns anew in Flanders Fields. Hers the task to mark the place

Where courage bled; the past revealed that hatred has an ugly face;

Here she blooms beneath the sky, and dreams as stars bestow their rays,

That Peace will last for you and I, and Love take root as poppies sway.

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When Poppies Fade

poppy

When poppies fade, our memories

Are washed in sepia, photo sleeves

With tattered corners tucked away

In dusty albums’ slow decay.

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When poppies fade, recollections

Fall, dead leaves in mass defections,

Crumble-dry beneath bare branches,

Blowing lost in frozen trenches.

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When poppies fade, awareness slips

From senseless, heartless fingertips,

Petals blanched, without their power,

Bloodless loss, amnesia’s flower.

 

Remembrance Calls

The Cenotaphs beneath the snow

are rotting with the passing years,

the memories of long ago

grow dusty; meanwhile, freedom’s cheers

¬†are fading with the autumn’s night,

blanching like the snow that falls,

democracy may lose its right –

as we forget, Remembrance calls.

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Today is a day to remember – and as the memories fade from one generation, it is our duty and privilege to pass the torch to the next…