Poetry

Poem For The Fallen

By 11th April 2010December 9th, 2019No Comments

As I stand and watch the flag draped coffin arrive amid the flourishes of salutes I start to cry, as I hear the Last Post sound, hear the jingle of the ginger suited medals salute my hero, I weep and remember.
I think of the spring, the green shoots of life coming through the ground, of flowers and I remember the wind through our hair in the high mountains and sunrise over the bay in the dawns early light.
I remember the fields, the new crops, the smell of newly turned earth, I see the owl at night and curlew in the early morn swoop over the grass. The kestrel on high as it spies around its hunting ground.
I turn to tell you of this but only see your flag draped coffin angled down the welcoming ramp and weep.

I think of the summer, the smell of the new cut hay, of shining lakes and of ridgeback hills. I remember the waterfall smashing its way to the sea where it meets kelp and seal to the sound of the gulls to become a seals playground.
The shouts of children on the swings, the joy of the day and the warmth of the evening. I think of the beck passing the pub, where the lights are on in the early evening, and the crunch of gravel underneath our feet to the sound of pulled pints.
I turn to smile at you but all I see is your flagged draped coffin, carried on high and weep.

I think of the autumn, the holidays we spend in the country, walking along paths, beaches, headlands, dogs at our side, and viewing distant lands. The heat at our backs, that favoured touch, the brushed kiss and the ready smile that says I Love You.
I think of the autumn, the shades of the trees, all the colours of the world in a one. The sight of the animals going about their business, of fox and stoat, hare, rabbit and deer all moving aside for brock badger.
I turn to look at you with this wonder and realise you are not there as the flag draped coffin is pushed, but gently, into a hearse, I weep.

I think of the winter, bleak and foreboding, of stripped trees, of black moors, gone is the coloured heather. The wind, rain, ice and snow cover the lakes with a hoar frost sparkling under the moonlight night creating a timeless canvas.
I wrap up to stave off the cold, the cold that seeps into my very being, into my heart and chills me to the bone.This makes me old before my time, that makes me slow, makes me tell you how much I miss you.
I turn to do this but see the flag draped coffin in the hearse set off on its long respectful slow journey and feel so so alone, I weep.

As I see the hearse draw away, around the grey aircraft on this wet day I see a shaft of light through the cloud and it follows you on your long journey. Your body may be here but you have gone and in your place I remember all we hold dear together.
We have the spring, summer, autumn and winter and as the years close I know you are always there for me, making me stronger, keeping me safe, with your spirit guiding me on.
Farewell my hero, till spring returns and the falcons swoop, I will cry – but quietly at my loss but I know you are still there for me not just for now but forever.
I thank you, for, I am not alone.

Jonathan White

Author Jonathan White

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