A November Poppy

A NOVEMBER POPPY Names,familiar names that now remain exposed,carved in stone,a memorial to others' shame.In their prime,cut off a time,so brief,float down,my sweet poppy leaf. Once a face,smiling eyes, lives with dreams vibrant as day,faded now,untold in someone's memory destined to lie.Every name,there were schooled,loved,laughed,and cried,like we,walking this town, exploring field and vale,each unique,and an unfinished tale. An unstructured prose verse dedicated to my grandfather and great uncle. Listen to me recite this verse on youtube today under pen name ichthyschiro