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
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2013
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