It's a sad old ****** Sunday
When men walk in suits,
With solemn faces in the cold wind
Tears flow down the elderly's wrinkled faces
And their hands shake
Women hold the hands
Of their whispering children
The long droning speeches are said
All is said and all is done
The poppies are placed
Everyone stands in silence
Then walks home in whispers
Paper poppies on their coats
Waking through
Freezing Autumn leaves
We walk inside our homes
We hear church bells chime
Like the ones at the funerals so long ago
We take off our coats
Leave them around
We lie in bed and sleep
We get up the next day
When all is said and done
And life goes on
Except not for the dead
And not for the ones
Who witnessed death