Proud!

From a little child’s eye.

Proud!

I watched you marching proudly, I saw you standing there,
So silent and so solemn, straight and tall,
I saw you with your medals shining, in the autumn air,
But I didn’t understand – I was too small.

I saw your shoulders stiffen when the standard lowered down,
And the bugle played that haunting sad lament,
And I noticed that small teardrop, that escaped all on its own,
But I couldn’t understand – just what it meant.

I joined you standing quietly, as you stood there in deep thought,
As you laid that wreath of poppies on the ground,
And again I saw the tears of what those bitter memories bought,
In the sadness of the people all around.

I saw your body straighten, as ‘Reveille’ called to you,
And you saluted, once again, those names in stone,
Then you and your old soldiers would march off, beyond my view,
Leaving poppies, and that cenotaph, – alone.

I never have forgotten you, because I have come to know,
And understand just why your tears were shed – in that sad way,
And the thought that you implanted, has rooted, and will grow,
Of you, and your ‘proud teardrops’ – and our Remembrance Day!

God bless you Dad, and all of your kind, who fought so proudly, and sacrificed so unselfishly, so that we who followed may live in freedom. xxxx.
Rest In Perfect Peace. (‘Stand at ease lads’, – stand easy).

Mick.