Sunday the 14th

I sit alone among thousands

I with my memories

Sharing the memories of others.

As a child living with strangers

Growing up too quickly in shelters

Watching the buzz-bombs

Cross the sky

Not knowing what friends

Would die.

My mother grieving

For brothers and sons at War.

I joined the Junior WAAC

Training in Senrab Street School.

I listen to the voices on my radio

Keeping the dead alive

“Lest We Forget”

My Poppy each year remembers

Pinned to my lapel

An uncle buried in Belgium.

Each generation grieves afresh

When will it ever end.