A Living Remembrance

I wrote this poem a long time ago . . . I think it must be 8 or more years ago. I was overcome by the inherent irony in some of our current rituals, particularly Remembrance Day, when a person is honoured only after death.

Remember me,
when I am gone!
So you wear the red flower.

Remember me,
in your tomorrow!
Honour me with
and rite.
With blaring horn,
With your deafening silence.

Yes, remember me
when I am gone!
Yet . . .
Yet something’s out of place . . .

Can you remember me,
Umm…(Dare I ask?)
Can you remember me
When I am still alive?

Would you, while I am still alive,
Adorn me with a garland
Honour me with
an ever present smile,
a kind word?
With a pat on my back
reminding me that I am not alone,
while the breath
Still runs warm
through my soul?

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