Every year
when I do not go
to a cenotaph to honour
the soldiers of past wars,
a tiny stab of guilt is in my heart.
yes I would get cold,
yes, my body would ache
yes, a crowd of strangers would be difficult.
And then I think
of the mud soldiers slogged through
of crowded POW camps
of grinding cold of a war in winter,
of wet that seeped into boots,
of military rations, the only food available.
My guilt is dwarfed by gratitude.
Gratitude that I have a choice today.
Choice to stay home, stay warm, stay safe.
“When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep?”
~ George Canning, former Foreign Secretary
(1770 - 1827)
No comments:
Post a Comment