Blithe Spirit
By Silver Spun Sand
Sun, 08 Nov 2015
- 2373 reads
6 comments
I bought a pack of poppy seeds;
prepared their bed so carefully,
but summer-long none showed.
Not one bonny, black-eyed face.
Instead they grew, in a place
of their choosing, not of mine...
Amidst the shingle and the shale
where kindred seeds blithely fell;
where nothing else could survive,
they sprung alive.
Nodding in the wind;
a barbed wire fence, no deterrent – still
they multiplied in crimson splendour,
saying, ‘Yes,’ to liberty – to freedom.
And still, they thrive; each year, each petal
different from the rest – no two the same,
like those they represent.
Never so true, as at the Tower of London;
the Weeping Window and the Wave – history now,
as those were represented there...each
name, proffered to the wind.
The same wind took them with it,
wheresoever it went, and, please, god,
we will remember them...
always.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
a lovely poem of remembrance,
Permalink Submitted by catherine poarch on
a lovely poem of remembrance, about the simplest of symbols. I love how the poppies have a life of their own.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
Meadows of poppies are such a
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Meadows of poppies are such a rare thing to see, so when they appear in your garden, it's such a joy, as is your poem Tina.
Jenny.
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The Tower display was so very
The Tower display was so very effective wasn't it?
each year, each petal
different from the rest – no two the same,
like those they represent.
That is very effective, so easy to think each flower the same, so easy to forget the individuality of each when large numbers die. Rhiannon
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