Sunday, November 09, 2008



See the poppy in the gutter?
Stain red the water coursing there?
Floats to drain with start and stutter

Past feet and eyes, all unaware
So passed-on, those myriad souls
Who gave their lives, who stood four-square

On sea, in air, in mud-filled holes
Their blood was spilled, our freedom won
For them we stand as church bell tolls

As a single beam from the sun
Illuminates a granite shrine
And tears flow for a lost loved-one

War's curse grows on a bitter vine
Remembrance is owed, yours and mine.


Richard H. Fay said...

Lovely! Very poignant.

Bob Lock said...

Thanks Richard,
I appreciate the comments of a fellow poet.