Wednesday, 11 November 2015

11th November

Not a normal post today because I thought I would share this poem which was in our Parish Magazine, the author is unknown. I hadn't heard it before but when I googled it it popped up all over the place so more well known than I thought.

Picture from Google images
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 pretty rose?
because, my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppy grows.

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.

Why is the middle so 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.

Back Tomorrow


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