Staring at the white stone cross,
I feel a tear glide down my cheek.
My breath turns to a white mist in the chill air.
I feel my heart pound in my chest,
Slowly, thumping in a soft and steady beat,
Mimicking the sound of beating drums.
The stillness all around is broken by the
Call of the trumpet, sounding loud and clear.
Before me, the white stone cross blurs into a sea,
Row upon row of the same,
Each one bearing a different name.
Standing there in the cold,
My hands shaking, turning blue and numb,
I imagine how these men, these boys, might have felt,
Forced to stand to attention hours upon end,
Or lying in a muddy, icy trench,
Watching their last breath float away in a white mist.
My heart beats faster,
Echoing the sound of feet pounding across soft earth.
As the last trumpet call dies away,
I wipe the tears from my frozen cheeks
And clear my vision.
I may not have known them
But their sacrifice was not in vain.
As those around me turn to leave,
I stay for a moment longer,
Staring at the white stone cross.

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This Poems Story

My name is Hanna Apperson and I am seventeen. I was inspired to write "Rememberance" after I had the amazing opportunity to visit Ottawa with over a hundred other young people. While there, we attended a war memorial service at Beechwood Cemetery. As I stood there, surrounded by others my age, staring at hundreds of stone markers, I was struck with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the sacrifices our soldiers made. When I returned home to BC, I sat down and poured out my feelings. This poem was the result.