Having lived the most of my life in Northern Ireland I find this time of year very emotional. I was a nurse in The Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast in the 1970’s during some of the worst of “The Troubles.” I cared for many of the injured, from shootings and bombs, and some cases I will never forget.
The following poem reminds us that the future is very scary with so much turmoil and wars in various countries.
The Inquisitive Mind of a Child
“Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love
For the men who marched away.
But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.
But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.
The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief,
For the men who never came back.
Buy why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child,
For the world is forgetting again.”
Author anon.
Thank You Lord, that we can put our trust in You, especially in our darkest hours.