Poetry Train Monday - 74 - The Inquisitive Mind of a Child

For the Poetry Train, I've posted an anonymous poem written for Remembrance Day. I was born on Remembrance Day, and this time set aside to honour those who answered the call to arms has always been a part of who I am. I entered the world in an army hospital and was delivered by a captain.

May I take a moment to thank that captain for resuscitating me? I wasn't breathing when I arrived.

My dad was in the US Army at the time. He was a Canadian, but served in the army as a registered alien. Luckily, I came along just as men from his unit were being held back from being discharged after serving their three-year tours of duty. Single men were being shipped over to the Vietnam conflict. My dad was married with a newborn and was honorably discharged.

I've always been grateful that I came along just at the right time. I'm so grateful that my dad was a good sharpshooter who only shot at targets, and not at men.




The Inquisitive Mind of a Child

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.

Author Unknown