ARMISTICE DAY IN THE NEW FOREST
(I usually blub when listening to the Armistice Day service! This poem was written in the New Forest - and on Armistice Day: Only, this time, we were parked up in our motor caravan - and, as we listened to the service on the radio, a herd of wild ponies did canter by. Their freedom made the connection between our freedom and the sacrifices made to secure it rather poignant. )
A November morning,
Parked up in the New Forest,and the hoof - beat of wild ponies,
Cantering free,
Out onto the heath:
Our freedom, today.
Bugles calling,
Crowds gathering at the Cenotaph,
Drums drumming, honoring lost youth,
Ranks forming,
On more ranks: The street
A carpet of poppies,And the brave boom of the minute-gun,
Clock telling the silence
That follows
The laying of wreaths:
And, remembering, we pray.
