I am eight five and counting,live alone in a fishing crib half way to the South Pole and like doing things 'the elderly' are not supposed to do, like travelling, and having opinions. .
Thursday, April 19, 2012
POPPY DAY
Sorry, my pictures of Gallipoli, taken on a visit to Turkey ten years ago are on a disk that won't play on this computer, but here is a poem I wrote, In Crete,at the foot of the Imbros gorge is a place wherethe guide books swear apparitions of dead soldiers appear on May 31st every year.
APPARITIONS
Every Anzac Day just before sunrise
standing behind old men in wheel chairs.
I see boys in short pants and long socks
Hoping the war would not end
before they had their chance to go.
I see Ralph who fell
under a train on his way to camp.
I see Jock, tall,blond and musical
missing in Crete.
I see Graeme the freckled clown
who made great puns in Latin
shot down over Germany.
And all the others so full
of potential who never achieved
anything but their names
on the Cenotaph.
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