Dedicated to all those who have made the ultimate sacrifice in the defence of their country with love and great respect from a grateful nation.
On the eleventh day of the eleventh month at eleven am precise,
He goes to church to pray for those who paid the final price.
His medals gleam his, shoes shine too as he bows his head to pray,
To remember those who’ve fallen and given everything away.
His mates have gone and others too, some he did not even know.
The guys who fell and would not see their tiny children grow.
The father’s brothers, cousins, sons, all lost before his eyes,
return in dreams or other times and leave him asking why.
He sees the ensigns and the flags, flowers decked in black and red,
The poppy worn by everyone to remember Nations dead.
The music plays, tears fill his eyes, a tightening in his chest,
The Last Post sounds in tribute to, all those who gave their best.
With head bowed low, eyes firmly shut, he focuses his mind,
and asks his God to care for those he had to leave behind.
Soldiers, Sailors Airmen too, he thinks of those who fell
Who gave their lives so we may live without this fear of hell.
His duty done, he goes back home, another year gone by,
He pours a single malt, and lifts his eyes up to the sky,
He lifts his glass, and pays a toast, “To many absent friends”
Even though he knows deep down this cannot make amends.
He thinks of all the bravest, and remembers all the dead,
The tears flow freely down his face, as he sadly shakes his head.
The cold November wind may blow the Poppies on their stem,
At break of dawn, again at dusk, “We will remember them”.