The Poppy in our time
an impromptu poem
by Tim J Rhohn-Sayers
It took a hundred years to reach our conscience – to impress
our mind.
We needed a symbol to focus on all the men and women left
behind.
In the trenches, in the control towers, in the bunkers,
wherever they strived
To make Britain free no matter how hard those Nazis
contrived.
We flew, we marched, we protested, we appeased but still the
onslaught.
In Flanders they saw, in fields, the bodies, the red, men fallen
like petals.
Their blood flowing as rivers as the death trains arrive and
Brookwood settles
The beauty we see in a field of red,
But not nowadays counting the dead.
Instead we count the waving, bright, garish stems of the deep
red poppy.
The poppy, our symbol, the future, after the war to end all
wars.
The poppy, afloat in our minds today as at eleven we all
pause.
And reflect, remember and think of better things, our
grandchildren (Poppy), our family our friends,
As we, in trivia, play with our phones, we tweet and observe
the trends.
Refocus, lest we forget, it is thanks to those lost that we
can waste our time
In such sweet inconsequential ways that are so sublime.
Thanks be the Poppy. Our past, our future, our time.
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