Poppy Field Skies

Poppy Field Skies

The patchwork was threadbare.
Until the needle struck the final thread.
Tired eyes slept.
A weeping widow, smiled into his eyes.
As together they watched
poppies from the skies.
Beneath the memorial, reunited they stood.
Old and young, hand in hand,
I think of my grandparents and how they first
met in an airfield, Burifa.
They named their house that.
Perhaps they still watch from poppy field skies?
Thoughts that were buried underneath, until they rise.
If you believe there is heaven?
Up above or here on Earth.
I hear snatches of gran knitting and nattering in her home.
Before it came down.
Those memories.
Grandpa was in the Air Force.
My gran a WAAF,
they didn’t say much about the War.
Except, where they left.
I still see and hear them
Beneath poppy field skies