Remembrance
They came out of the morning mist, falling into step behind the military band. Old and young. From the veterans of old conflicts to the little Beaver Scouts shiny-faced, their legs moving quicker than the rest to keep up. Wearing uniforms or medals. Each of them displaying a small red flower as a symbol of their purpose. Walking behind their flags to their destination, the Cenotaph in our town park.
The community gathered to welcome them. More again this year than last year. We waited patiently for Red Rose Daddy and his Explorer Scouts to arrive. We stood as the bright sunshine burned away the mist and we gave thanks. We remembered.
I didn't know the woman who stood beside me weeping silently throughout the service, paying her own painful tribute, but I hope it helped her to know that we stood with her and we supported her and that precious life she mourned.
The community gathered to welcome them. More again this year than last year. We waited patiently for Red Rose Daddy and his Explorer Scouts to arrive. We stood as the bright sunshine burned away the mist and we gave thanks. We remembered.
I didn't know the woman who stood beside me weeping silently throughout the service, paying her own painful tribute, but I hope it helped her to know that we stood with her and we supported her and that precious life she mourned.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
'For the Fallen' by Laurence Binyon