Emma crawled onto my lap as we watched theThey shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
The Times, September 1914
Cenotaph service. She burrowed in wanting her hug
Ieuan! . . . is heaven full of soldiers with no legs?
Her question floored me, how was I to reply.
Em, intelligent child, asking the eternal
question, where do we go when we die?
Her logic derived from snippets of news reports
and a garbled knowledge of scripture. My answer
is of course: not all who fall will go there,
faith is the key that unlocks that gate.
There are no old or young there,
male or female,
black or yellow,
bruised or broken,
Jew or Gentile,
amputee or diseased.
Flesh or blood cannot enter there,
the same bodies but changed,
mortality into immortality.
At the last trump in an instant,
through the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ
Em accepted my explanation,
it is true, Ieuan said so.