I was just a youngster walking beside my Mom in our nearby town when she handed A man a dollar bill. The gentleman, in return, gave her a tiny red Poppy. I wondered why Mom had spent money on Such a flimsy fake flower. The donation was for the soldiers, my Mother explained. But I didn't understand. I had forgotten the childhood memory until I saw the familiar display at our Farmer's Market. I stopped for a moment and reminisced. And then I stuffed a dollar bill in the slit in The collection box, picked up the pretend poppy and Stuck it in the buttonhole of my shirt. As I walked through the crowds I wondered whether Anyone would notice the posy. I wore the floral symbol in memory of my mother, and in Memory of my soldier Jack. But I especially wore the red flower in Memory of the brave ones buried under the Real poppies in Flanders Field. And I still don't understand. |