This week’s poem, called November Thoughts, is by Eunice Lorrimer-Roberts
I muse on ‘mellow fruitfulness’
those words the poet told,
as leaves cling tightly to the trees
the colours rich and bold; vivid orange, ruby red,
deep brown and honey gold.
The slightest breeze disturbs their rest,
no sign, no sigh, no sound,
just slowly, quietly, featherlike
they gently driﬁ to ground.
And where they lie, undisturbed,
the golden piles abound.
Then other thoughts invade my mind of strife so long ago,
when a golden generation
was not allowed to grow.
When youth was cut down in its prime
because war made it so.
This time of year we think of them
those men who never reached home
as bullets blazed and shrapnel ﬂew
and cut them to the bone.
Did they too lie undisturbed -
on foreign ground - alone?
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day in this November gloom,
we remember all those young men who were sent off to their doom.
We remember them - those golden youths
whose lives were soon to cease,
who chose to ﬁght and gave their all that we might live in peace.
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