The Cushions of Saint George (and commemorations in general)
There’s a little church in Ypres which commemorates our dead,
So peaceful and so tranquil yet so soon as you’re inside
You’re reminded of the fact that you’re sitting down instead
Of lying with the dead poor sods who came out here and died.
That your sitting on a hand embroidered cushion, on a chair.
And each tiny stitch a token of something from beyond, above.
A simple cushion, softening what it illustrates, the care
To be nurtured of the memories of the dead, by those who love.
And hand-stitched of every colour, they are emblems of a past
That should never be forgotten, close your eyes and bow your head
To let this thoughtful, tranquil, ambience make its cast
To camouflage the muted screams of those who now lie dead.
By Michael Shave
Photo by the author