Welcome to another crap poem.
On this occasion, the rhyme I’ve created takes a more sombre tone as we pass over another Remembrance Sunday and pay our respects to the true heroes of our world, both past and present.
I was taught little about both world wars as a child, and most of my understanding comes from more recent years where I’ve taken an interest in the freedom we’ve been granted as a result of the huge sacrifice of others. Often the ultimate sacrifice.
Being thankful, showing gratitude for what we have, who we love and where we are, is something I actively teach our daughter, especially at this time of year. It’s easy for kids to get wrapped up in desperation for new plastic from the man in red rather than understand why we remember those who are killed, injured and/or fighting in war.
She wears a Poppy on her coat, and before she leaves for school I ask –
“Why do we wear a Poppy, munchkin?”
She started out not knowning or shrugging, as you’d expect from most 6-year-olds, and teaching her the ins and outs of the war dead would be lost on her young mind. Instead I simply explain that –
“We wear a Poppy to thank all the heroes, ok?”
And gradually it’s sinking in.
This poem is dedicated to those that have fought, and continue to fight, for the freedom and democracy I believe every human deserves to exist with.
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Lest we forget
Eleven, eleven, eleven,
A time I stand and ponder
Lives of loved ones that we’ve lost
Their bravery, and honour
A sea of poppies all around
The scarlet of the war
A flower to commemorate
Huge sacrifice from all
Pipes of peace on Christmas Day
A festive pause of sport
While battle waited on each side
After match end, on they fought
Great sacrifice means many things
But few know of the meaning
Of losing one you love to war
Of lost thoughts and lost feelings
They suffered greatly as they fought
Never thinking of surrender
Freedom was all that they could hope
A war won, and democratic splendor
Poppies red and salty tears
Are all I offer now
As big ben sounds and silence falls
We nod our forrowed brow
I think about the awful scences
Soldiers injured, burned and dead
Although freedom was their only thought
I know that I’d have fled
So heroes really do exist
They’re circling us now
As we go about our daily lives
Without dictatorship to avow
We owe them every choice we make
The war dead and survivors
Never drawn by politics or pain
Release and freedom were their drivers
Eleven, eleven, eleven
Big Ben chimes again
We bow our heads and give thanks for
The sacrifice of them
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I drew this remembrance wreath with candles and poppies to go with the poem. The first and probably only time I’ve altered the image for a Crap Poem.
I hope that, on this occasion, the poem isn’t crap at all.
Thanks for reading 💜🥀
Creative Steph 