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Remembrance Day

by Chris Sorrenti



 photo Remembrance-Day-Lest-We-Forget_zps005e293d.jpg


On Remembrance Day the bodies lay
of the poor soldiers.
They fought for us and it was a must
for life this very day.
They gave their lives for freedom,
for this very day we must remember them
with a flower that has a strange power
to make us pray for them.
The church bells cry out for the silence
which must be bestowed,
and at eleven o’clock the gun cries out
the silence must begin.
For two minutes the silence goes on
and then is gone when the gun goes off again.
The larks bravely flew over the trenches,
and still do over you and me this very day,
where the bodies of the poor soldiers lay.

© November 10, 1969
Top photo courtesy of the Net

The original:

 photo RemembranceDay1969ENHRED60_zpsfe50e1ab.jpg


1,330 hits as of March 2024


11/10/1969

Author's Note: I was going through my parents’ photos and memorabilia a couple of months ago, and came across the above poem, which I wrote at 12 years old as a Grade 7 school assignment, and had completely forgotten about. I decided then to type it out and revise slightly for Pathetic.org. Also thought it would be cool to include a photo of the original.

Posted on 11/08/2014
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 11/08/14 at 08:31 AM

The writer - always in you. It's lovely to see.

Posted by June Labyzon on 11/08/14 at 01:51 PM

Loved seeing your work from when you were a child. I have one piece that I wrote in 4th grade called Buses...it is fun to find how we thought when we were young. I assumed that Flanders Field might have inspired this poem. In fourth grade we were "forced" to memorize and recite that poem. Memorization and recital of classic poetry was a big part of my elementary school days. I don't think they do it anyomre. Thanks for sharing

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 11/08/14 at 10:36 PM

A very well expressed remembrance for a 12 year old.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/10/14 at 04:45 AM

I liked reading this tryptych of poems, Chris, especially the one when you were twelve. Quite moving.

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