To make it through this year, as I am determined to do. I will strive to fight. The statement to show how I will get to the final day of this extraordinary year, Is “Ellen, Perseveres.” That is my intention.

Wearing an anti covid-19 mask,

I vow to set myself the task

that each day from now until then.

I will rise above the parapet

and repeat it time and again,

until it rings in my ears

and all can see,

she persevere’s.

The last few months I have folded myself into a the smallest space. Closed my eyes and hid, I have begun to surrender to the empty. I feel me fade away as if a smudged pencil sketch. My shape is real enough, my face still there. The essence of me is fading … it feels like whisps, or steam from a cup of tea on a cold day. Not quite sure you saw it slipping silently away. The person that is left is no longer curious enough to find out. So it will be a case of finding … me.

My intention is to learn something new. Today, I signed up to an online class. Together, we the group, will learn how to write and produce an audio play, with the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds. I have also pledged to find myself within the words I write. To see it through, to excel the best way I can. Lock down and health issues have taken their toll, but not any more. Ellen will come through, As I Pledge to persevere.

I want to thank my blogging friend who encouraged me to set an intention and commit to it. https://youcanalwaysstartnow.wordpress.com/2020/09/14/setting-an-intention/

“If you were to chose a word to help you through the last four months, to inspire or motivate what would it be and why?” leave it in the comments I would love to chat.

Ellen’s intention is to Persevere.

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.

red poppy in bloom

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.

While We All Remember Them.