A Time to Remember
Hands covered in fine leather gloves against the cold
Almost 11 a.m.
Almost time to go.
She waits in her chair.
Lest we forget, she remembers:
The letters he wrote in the trenches,
rats scurrying past his feet
making light of the rain and the mud
promising he’d be home soon
wishing he was home already.
And then nothing.
For her, the sky was constantly grey.
The sacrifice of life and love
Transformed her world
Today is a day for gratitude
She smiles at her son
Whose smile is one she remembers
Whose appreciation she treasures
And whose freedom she understands.
“Never forget,” she says, as he helps her into his car.
By Rita Button