* The Prestige Of The Poppy
Behold my form, my humble guise, my fragile fashioned grace.
Look deep within the giver’s eyes, some noble hopes to trace.
November’s here and folks look back to what heroes have bought.
They stood as one as things looked black, courageous as they fought.
Not all survived the grief-filled times. Not all returned scot-free.
Not all were able to pen rhymes of utmost misery.
I’m just a poppy, nothing more. I spilt no dropp of blood.
I didn’t wince with pain through war... nor turn the foul flood.
I didn’t march across the fields, nor swim against the tide
And yet I’m loved by each who yields a conscience still inside.
Think not that I, if human, too, could idly watch death grin.
For as a man, I’d join the few that knew that they must win!
I’d take up arms against the foe! I’d train and fight so brave!
For deep within my heart I’d know, a free world I must save!
Think not that I could turn and run and let the children down,
Nor unborn babes hid from the sun be born to wear a frown.
I’d fight for freedom, live or die! Regardless, come what may!
Because I’d know, that even I, must face God’s Judgement Day!
I’d not despise the souls that prayed as they stayed home instead.
I recognise a conscience weighed, yet blood weighs more once bled!
So buy a poppy... show you care! Give generously with love!
For every poppy that folks wear is seen by God above...
Poem by Denis Martindale © November 2003.
Royal British Legion: poppy-dot-org
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