We Will Wear Our Poppies Early This Year

It was quiet.
In the same way
Mist falls over a city,
Like a canopy,
A strange stillness settled over Ottawa,
And I could see how easily
This place could turn into a ghost town.

Buses, cars, and people,
Make wide circles around this tainted ground,
Strangers’ eyes meet mine,
Twin pools of loss and confusion,
We’ve lost our vibrance,
But only for the moment.

We will mourn,
Our maple flags will fall,
And fly at half-mast tomorrow,
In red and white,
We will gravitate toward this sacred spot,
To honour our fallen soldier
And our nation.

We will wear our poppies early this year.


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