Poppy

POPPY

I thought I saw a soldier I couldn’t tell you why Perhaps the stiffness in his gait As if marching off to die He was elderly and orderly Well dressed and with a tie And wore a scarf and beret Not common in July

I imagined him a younger man Filled with grit and pride Swear allegiance to his sovereign Not just along for the ride Lee Enfield cocked and ready Other proud men by his side Full of fear but trusting That together they’d turn the tide

I pictured him in full battle cry Leave sodden trench into wire Barbed and razored tearing flesh Headlong into enemy fire The rush and spill of bloody men Through mines and gas and mire The stench of death, no safety near Living hell and its hellfire

The whistle and thud of passing shells Summoning some to death Cut down before their lives took shape Muted gasps of one last breath Cheeky grins of yesterday turned to grimey grimace Trampled under squaddies’ boots, as their souls they bequeath Torn limb from limb, mown down or shot Somewhere they’ll lay a wreath

They say it was a mincing Or so it was told to me On those killing fields of Belgium Where my Grandfather fought at Ypres They’d leave the trenches side by side Most to fall, left to rot in heaps A million men lost, many buried there Laid to rest in uneasy sleep

I thought I saw a soldier But what was it I saw Just a child of god nearing heaven’s gate Or a shadow from before? A lucky one who made it back But crippled by the memories he bore? In Flanders Fields some poppies grew And that’s how WE remember that war