At this particular time of year I think of all I’m thankful for, my friends, my family and my love of life…As you know Remembrance Day is around the corner so I thought it would be nice to write another poem for this day…It’s a story of a young Trumpeter and I hope you like my offering, hence…The Trumpeter…May you all have a beautiful Friday, much love always… xxx Lynn xxx
On the eleventh day of the eleventh hour and the eleventh month 1918,
The guns of the western front fell silent after more than four years.
Whilst out one cold November day
I watched a lad in fields at play
Where grass no longer there did grow
I’d say his years, seventeen or so!
With trumpet pressed against his lips
Then lightest touch of fingertips
A tune which ripped into my soul
The sound of church bells then did toll!
Eleven times they gently wept
Then silence of two minutes crept
No sound was heard from miles away
Of this we named Armistice Day!
With that the lad just smiled then went
Into a mist from not known whence
But on the ground from where he stood
Were poppies red like ruby blood!
Amongst the poppies was a grave
Made of wood with quite an age
A Trumpeter of age unknown
Lost his way but now goes HOME!
Copyright By LynnKaren
1 Thessalonians 4:16
For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout,
with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: