Friday, 11 November 2011

Remembrance Day

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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 the men who marched away.
But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men 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 the men 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.
Author unknown

4 comments:

  1. I've not heard this poem before... it brought tears to my eyes...

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  2. Lovely Pip. I watched a marvellous documentary this morn about the Aus soldiers lost in Flanders, found, identified through DNA, and now reburied...and it caused me to reflect on a great Uncle never found.....and my Great grandma who must have been eternally heartbroken.
    Then at "Craft" this afternoon one of the ladies read out 2 moving poems to us all about the red poppies. We all had tears.
    Your lovely poem completes the reminiscing. Thankyou.

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  3. I have not seen that poem before but it is so very true...I wonder how different the up and coming generation will grow up not knowing war as the generations before have.

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  4. Thank you, Pip for posting this poem. I have copied and pasted it on our craft forum for all to read. I could not get a poppy to wear yesterday, so I wore a sprig of rosemary instead. Lest We Forget. Sandy.

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Thank you for taking the time to comment, I'll try and reply in a timely manner, usually by email, if you are a no-reply commenter then I will reply directly to your comment which means you will have to come back to see it :)