I Love the Autumn but hate November
I Love the Autumn but hate November.
Remember, remember the 11th November –
Gunfire. no reason, no Plot.
The waste of young lives sent forward and shot.
The fireworks and bonfires just serve to remind me
Of bombs and incendiaries, of the carnage to see,
Of the fear and the doubts, but the knowledge of duty
To do what they must to perpetuate beauty.
The beauty of freedom, of lives without limits,
Not theirs for the taking, nor lasting but minutes,
But those back at home who are counting on honour
To see the boys through, until they’re a goner.
Some came home broken, wounded and battered,
Wondering if everything was worth it or mattered.
Too quickly their country forgot what they did,
No support for de-briefing, no reward, God forbid!
They did it for duty, for love of their country,
For the King (or the Queen) to put it quite bluntly,
For a future of peace, tranquillity and love,
But the future of them was in heaven above.
Their light was snuffed out on the earth down below
But their life we shall honour as the stars above glow
They shall live in our hearts and our minds here on earth
As November comes round to provide a new birth.
I don’t hate November; I hate that it hurts me.
They gave up their lives for our freedom you see,
But my hurt is as nothing compared to their war.
My heart’s full of love, for the young men, who gave all.
This poem was composed by, and published with the permission of, Caroline Miller-Tate, whilst contemplating the significance of our memories engendered during this year’s Remembrance weekend period . . . “At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them”