Freedom

Freedom

A National holiday

is freedom of a type,

although nations rich

and nations poor have these.

I'm not up at dawn.

The service is at 10:00am 

where I live.

So freedom of a kind again.

I have breakfast in bed,

 served this morning

by a generous son.

10:00am draws near but

no one will go with me,

so I must go alone.

Another type of freedom,

although this double edged sword

leaves its cuts in a random manner.

Alone, yes, and free to walk

to the village hall but

also, alone with no company

but the trees and houses, birds and sky

they all free too.

Alone and no one to look after, 

my attention can wander freely;

to the flags,

to the poppies,

the servicemen in uniform and

the medals of the old warriors.

Free to attend to the speech

by a soldier in uniform

"this day remembers no battle,

only the men who went

and did not return",

pride in our people,

remembering the grief;

not 'the glory'.

The hymns, prayers, poppies,

wreaths, and then

the bugler lets The Last Post

dance through our ears

amongst the autumn leaves.

A solemn sound as winter

sneaks unnoticed into the village.

We all free to talk now,

mingle with friends

wander on home;

not knowing all of our freedoms,

knowing some of our bonds,

knowing some freedoms,

not knowing all of our bonds.