Medal

Sadly there is no Victoria Cross
For human gallantry in the everyday,
The acts of love, the twisting knife of loss,
The briars which snag at us on our way.
If there were you’d be awarded one,
For exceptional courage under fire,
For surviving both ice and noonday sun,
The humdrum dramas which we each endure.
So a medal for just being alive,
Struck for those who do the best they can,
For when we’re gone, what will survive
Are memories of the woman, and the man.
So you could pin it to your chest with pride,
To glimmer briefly on the dark’ning tide.

© James Nash 2010