I stand at the cenotaph; the azure blue sky being held up by dark bare branches.
The crackling falling leaves floating past at first a sprinkles, and then advances, into a torrent of golden maples, falling upon the ground so green.

Replaced slowly by the red poppies seen, on the coats that grow by the minute, from a group to a crowd and then to a throng of dogs, babies, adults old and young,
Paying respect to our fallen soldiers, veterans and serving armed forces.

And through the service I silently weep,
not in regret but a gladness so deep
That my family survived, into the two wars pressed,
Just by the luck of timing I’m blessed,
that my sons and grandsons, did not have to endure.
the pain, and horror, a few yards of mud to secure

The Arabs were promised a state, if they fought the Turks and it all went well,
Now They languish in a huge refugee camp and like Israel,
call on the God of Abraham, to grant them security and peace.
100yrs ago when the fighting did cease
A young British Officer with the Bedouin laid pipe for oil,
Suez, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, to the victor that still is the spoil

A little 6-year-old spark in her pink cape, walks at the end of the parade with her friends holding hands.
And I marvel how time weaves together the strands, and if that young soldier 100yrs ago could have only known,

Gale Fernie,
Wordsmith, Poet.

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