Truth from Farley’s Eyes

 “They’re starting – Quick!” I said to him

“It’s the trooping of the Queens’ Guards

Take my hand, and we’ll find a place

in the front where you can see.”

I led him to the palace yard 

clasping palms we chased the parade

hearts beating along to drums,

to soldiers’ feet, and horses hooves

and triumphant marching songs

My grandson and I stood and watched

row upon row of belted tunics, 

scarlet red of Britain’s blood

gold buttons flashed by noon-day sun

black trousers and shoes in scissor-leg moves 

snipping in time, wooden, all as one

Left right, snip snap

Bayonets fixed on sky-aimed rifles

Canadian bearskin-heightened heads

glistening fur bounced and swung

while people jostled, tradition bound

Left right, swish swoosh

“How many?” he asked above the din

“What?” I said, too thrilled to hear

He pointed at the black fur dancing

noble and thick upon their heads

Left right, snip snap

“Grannie” his query pierced the music

Left right, the soldiers passed

I cheered with the crowd but Farley cried

“For the soldiers hats,” he demanded the truth

“How many bears have died?”

.

Submitted to:

  Imperfect Prose Thursdays

    http://thursdaypoetsrallypoetry.blogspot.com/

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