The following is a poem that was sent to me from a lady in our local quilt group. She received it from a lady in her knitting group-don't you love the internet. I was so impressed with what was said that I read it at church on Sunday. The words remind me of what my mother used to say "They also serve who sit at home and wait." It may have been a quote but I am not sure. The other reason that it struck a cord is because, as I have mentioned previously, I was born in England and that is where this poem is based.
The author's name wasn't given when I first saw the poem but now that I have it, I wanted to share it with you. This will be one of my yearly readings.
If you would like to know more about the writer, her blog is: https://elsieshufflebottom.
Blessings
Chosen
I’m an ordinary baby,
Red, squalling, indignant at being dragged out into this cold, noisy world.
But to my Mum and Dad I’m beautiful – the one that they’d have chosen.
I’m an ordinary little boy, naughty sometimes, grubby sometimes.
I was third shepherd in the school Nativity. John was Joseph.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary eleven year old. I didn’t get my scholarship to the grammar school.
Peter next door did.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary fourteen year old. I wanted to work on the farm up the road.
David from the cottage by the church got the job.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary nineteen year old. I joined up to do my bit. I was hoping to be made up to L/Cpl.
George Smith got the promotion.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary twenty one year old. I lie in a cold grave inFrance
Somebody has written in pencil “An Unknown British Soldier.”
Mum and Dad wonder why I have been chosen.
I’m still twenty one, still young, and still serving.
My tomb is in Westminster Abbey.
Kings pause and bow as they pass.
Queens lay their flowers for me.
People file past and cry for me.
Children stop and wonder who I am.
I am an ordinary man.
I am the Unknown Soldier.
My Mum and Dad don’t know that I was chosen.
I’m an ordinary baby,
Red, squalling, indignant at being dragged out into this cold, noisy world.
But to my Mum and Dad I’m beautiful – the one that they’d have chosen.
I’m an ordinary little boy, naughty sometimes, grubby sometimes.
I was third shepherd in the school Nativity. John was Joseph.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary eleven year old. I didn’t get my scholarship to the grammar school.
Peter next door did.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary fourteen year old. I wanted to work on the farm up the road.
David from the cottage by the church got the job.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary nineteen year old. I joined up to do my bit. I was hoping to be made up to L/Cpl.
George Smith got the promotion.
Mum and Dad think I should have been chosen.
I’m an ordinary twenty one year old. I lie in a cold grave in
Somebody has written in pencil “An Unknown British Soldier.”
Mum and Dad wonder why I have been chosen.
I’m still twenty one, still young, and still serving.
My tomb is in Westminster Abbey.
Kings pause and bow as they pass.
People file past and cry for me.
Children stop and wonder who I am.
I am an ordinary man.
I am the Unknown Soldier.
My Mum and Dad don’t know that I was chosen.
Jennie Carter
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