As I walk towards the War Memorial, and lay a Poppy Wreath,
​​​Can anyone see below my suit at the turmoil underneath,
Remembering the fallen whose names are on the wall
​​​Who took their countries schilling when answering the call,

I’ve stood beside the relatives who wear Elizabeth’s Cross,
​​​A symbol of their suffering, an emblem of sad loss,
I’ve sat and hugged a mother, who thought she grieved alone,
​​​Photos of her loved one adorn the family home,

And when my comrades gather at reunions every year,
​​​We raise a glass to absent friends and shed a little tear,
For those of us who served and lived, growing older day by day,
​​​Have a duty to live the best life we can in each and every way,

To honour those who no longer feel the kiss of morning sun,
​​​Whose story on this dear mother earth, was ended far to young
And yet I cannot help but feel an overwhelming guilt,
​​​That I get to enjoy the fruits of the world, their sacrifice has built,

So, I polish up my medals and give my shirt a press,
​​​Can anyone see the tears I’m hiding, can anybody guess?
That although I look cool and composed, I’m a right mess underneath,
​​​As I walk towards the War Memorial, to lay a Poppy Wreath.

©️ John McMillan 2017.