FREED FROM SOLITUDE

The grass grows greener

where you lie

Your soul will assuredly live

you will never die

Close friends will always remember

they are with you close by

Your family still wear a broad smile

they don't wish to cry

The red poppies that bloom above

still heave a heavy sigh

We are all with you now

as we were before

You will be remembered for your devotion

to duty evermore

Even your enemies appreciate

peace is what you died for

An eternal truce is what the world

pleads for more

Peace and tranquillity to replace

the agony of war

Now that the fury of the storm

has finally ceased

The memory of your death in glory

has greatly increased

We will remember, now we know

you may never return

Gone to a pleasant land

where no one can hold your hand

Likewise the millions of other mortals

also gone

The good Lord is close by

this you must understand

In the darkness

of your new spirit life

Far removed from the horror

of the cruel war strife

Do consider it would be ill gain

to grieve

A new world was your destiny

this I believe

The mourning tears

that water the sacred poppies

If there is a life hereafter

you are guaranteed a reprieve

John Joseph Quinn,

Bishop Middleham

THE CHILD OF YOUR FUTURE (A reply)

The child of your future salutes you,

As he stands before your grave.

He thanks you for giving him freedom.

He can weep for the fall of the brave.

He knows that many volunteered,

And others were conscripted to go.

He knows though a Hobson's decision,

It was better to die than say no.

He tries to imagine, but cannot,

The unanswered prayers from on high,

The loving, the leaving, the loneliness,

The pain of a bloody goodbye.

The child of your future is legion,

And you will be legion too.

The many once born of the living,

The many once living, once you.

Your old friends have kept their promise.

They have told your story well.

Through them he sees your face,

Through them he touches hell.

The child of your futures salutes you,

As he stands before your grave.

He too was young and understands,

The sacrifice you made.

Elizabeth Morfoot,

Darlington

THE RED POPPY

The red poppies are now in bloom again,

to remind us, not to forget the fallen

at Flanders, the Rhine, the river Seine.

Each year, on the eleventh day,

at the eleventh hour, we remember the

fallen in battle by the poppy flower.

When one and all, will in silence respect,

those who their lives give,

so that we may in peace and tranquillity live.

What more could they honourably give,

when only two minutes, can we possibly give?

So let us remember this flower,

the hour and day, as long as we live.

Raymond Morris,

Norton on Tees.

THE POPPY

Have you peeped inside a poppy

And seen the beauty there?

Colours so exquisite

Delicate and rare.

But sadly they will fade

And each petal soon will fall

All so wonderfully made

By the Creator of us all.

So let's hold on to those things

Which can never fade away

Enjoy the love God has for us

Which forever more will stay.

Each flower is but a foretaste

Of the beauty yet to come

When Jesus in his mercy

Comes to take us home.

Meanwhile let's make the most

Of the passing beauty here,

Let's keep our eyes wide open

See Gods' wonders that appear.

Let's gaze and very gently feel,

For this fleeting glory is so real,

So soft and gentle to the touch,

A gift from God who loves so much.

Elizabeth Tomlinson,

Richmond

HE WAS THERE

On a visit to Hartlepool's Heugh Battery

With two guns facing out to sea

A plaque recalls,

A First World Bombardment

From an old foe Germany

In a small peaceful park

Three hundred yards away

Stands a Second World War memorial

Crowned by an angel

Whose outstretched arms

are reaching to the sky

Below her engraved in marble

Are names of Second World War heroes,

for our freedom they were to die,

Then a sight that met my eyes

No other can contest

A Chelsea Pensioner,

With his head bowed in reverence

A row of medals on his chest

Some say he comes here every year

On this his special day

They say old soldiers never die

They simply fade away

Gordon McCalllum,

Bowburn