To end all wars

I came to the Tower expecting to commune with the dead. I'd even written a poem to go with the picture I thought I'd take. Instead, sobering as the moat of poppies is as a reminder of the brutal waste of life that was the 1914-18 war, I communed in the mizzle with the living: the many, many other visitors on the ramps and walkways with their phones and i-pads and cameras; the half-term children being told what happened a century ago; the people in uniform or badges who may well have spent time on the inside of war themselves; the bowed grey heads, perhaps remembering the one that came next; the volunteers in red t-shirts planting today's poppies.

The number of poppies is shocking, their tumbling from windows and over walls is moving and as a public sculpture this is inspired. The mood was respectful but not sombre; people were animated by the scale of the remembrance but somehow still quiet.  

It was good to share with so many strangers.

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