While We All Remember Them.

Florence wears her poppy with pride.
Only a Bloody Mary to sit beside ,
fag a-dangle from painted lips,
burgeoning breasts child bearing hips.
All a-wobble; she waits for the last post.
Lips tremble; as she drinks a silent toast.

A widow of war; his body unfound.

Buried deep beneath foreign ground.

For peace he fought and lost his life,

Bullets, left lonly, a grieving wife.

Alone, eyes all a puddle, she stands,

Silently clasping her shaking hands.

Photo by Maria Orlova on Pexels.com

While, we all remember them.

Do you think my attempt is too fickle for such a poignant rememberance? Leave me a comment its good to talk.

Thanks to the artist of Florence who holds full copyright, giffy for use of tumbling animation. Both poem and poppies are my own.

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While We All Remember Them.