BLOSSOMTIME; Your Poem.

Was it really twenty Spring times ago when you were newly born? That bright cold, fresh day when we became a family. Happiness measured by tears as we held you so close, your scrawny little arms showed early determination, as you fought and struggled against your Mum and Dad. Even the trees celebrated as we brought you home, their delicate confetti falling over the streets and gardens, snow white tiny blossoms, formed a sweet fragrant carpet welcomed our sweet baby boy to our safe, loving house. Through those early years we watched you quickly flourish, Our adventurous healthy boy grew into a strong young man. Called to serve our country you never let anyone down, Black boots always shining uniform with knife edge creases, Brave heart worn on your sleeve, My Son, you made me so proud. Sadly, those few short weeks ago, we heard that tragic news, Those words every mother dreads, Our sweet, darling boy had gone lost in a field of red poppies thousands of miles away, Cruelly killed by a nameless coward, As you tried to bring peace and hope.

We met you from the RAF plane, The 10 plain, simple coffins of you and your brothers in arms Carried by the guard of honour, blessed and prayed over by Father John, Draped with our country's weeping flag.

When we finally laid you to rest, In that quiet peaceful grave I thought the blossom trees Had remembered this Mother's love, So many beautiful petals blew softly, Gently stroked and comforted my broken heart.

Gerard Morgan