Today, outside the grocery store, a pleasant old man with an American Legion cap handed out little hand crafted poppies made of crepe paper and wire. After being ignored by a hurried shopper, his wife asked me if I would please take one. I accepted. She took one of the little handmade flowers out of a plastic bucket and with a kindly smile gave it to me. My eyes burned a little and my throat constricted. I thanked her and went inside the store. A few minutes later, as I left, I again witnessed several shoppers entering the store. The long weekend seemed to give them a one track mind. Several ignored the old man's and his wife's attempts to give them a poppy. I saw a young mother pushing her grocery cart past pause and take the small token from the old veteran. I twisted the wire stem of the flower in my hand as I walked back to my truck. I read the attached tag, "Hand-Made By Veterans." I reflected on the meaning of the poppy flower I held and the meaning of the poem it symbolizes.
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