Sunday the 14th
I sit alone among thousands
I with my memories
Sharing the memories of others.
As a child living with strangers
Growing up too quickly in shelters
Watching the buzz-bombs
Cross the sky
Not knowing what friends
Would die.
My mother grieving
For brothers and sons at War.
I joined the Junior WAAC
Training in Senrab Street School.
I listen to the voices on my radio
Keeping the dead alive
“Lest We Forget”
My Poppy each year remembers
Pinned to my lapel
An uncle buried in Belgium.
Each generation grieves afresh
When will it ever end.
