The Legion Man


He stands with pride

As well he might

Medals upon his chest

With memories of the fallen

Who died to protect the rest


The Legion Man

Does all he can

To make passers-by aware

To open their eyes, to prioritise

To take time out to care


Passers by

Try not to catch his eye

They’re ever busy shoppers

Far too keen to leave the scene

Without giving a few spare coppers


Just a Poppy red

To remember the dead

As a mark of thought and respect

Is all he asks

A forlorn task

Or just too much to expect?


A tear begins to form

In the corner of an eye

A fleck of dust from a windy gust,

Or a deep set memory’s cry?


It’s not about just the old and bold

From the dim and distant past

Our world can’t seem to find a peace

That is set to stay or last


Even now they answer the call

Sadly many in far lands fall

More names to be added to the Arboretum Wall


The Legion Man shakes his tin

Tries to be heard above the din

It’s just one day to mark the grave

Of the young, the old, the slain, the brave


He stands there for the sake of others

Grieving mums, fallen brothers

So when next you hear a rattling tin

Spare a thought and drop something in.


By Bill Clayton


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