To our fallen,to our soldiers, to our saviours,
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
And today I gather my things
I pin a small poppy to my chest
I walk with a certain finesse
For I remember no less.
Dear Pop,
You know we miss you still, right?
You know how mum cried, for the first time in years?
The last time she cried must have been back in the dream home
Back when my siblings cared for eachother.
Mostly.
You've told Gran how much my sister cried, haven't you?
And my brother.
Tell her I'm sorry I never had the chance to know her,
and that I smile upon the few memories I have of her.
Goodbye.
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