Eleven-Eleven-Eleven

I wrote this poem when I was 13 for Remembrance day. I remember having to read it out loud for the entire school assembly….

Eleven-Eleven-Eleven

As the wind whispers
on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month
Leaves recede
and sink down to the graves below. People bustle to grave yards.
Crosses line in perfect geometrical patterns
Thoughts swim under eyes of survivors
Lonely trees flank them,
marking this day,
this day of Remembrance.
As nearby cows sing messages,
chrysanthemums swell and
birds hum minuets as yellow as sunshine.
People move from graves
Heads down, hands folded
and

‘We will remember’

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