The Medal
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Olivia Wellington, Grade 5
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Poetry
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2018
A tear comes to my eyes, as I hold the medal in my hand.
Marching sounds echo throughout,
The celebrating land.
How could we have won, if so many have been lost?
All hope had been drained out of my heart;
Was this really worth the cost?
The day he walked out the door, letters poured out on the floor.
Eventually they stopped coming to me;
But now, one gave me the medal.
As my feet follow the beat of the sound,
My heart screams the opposite.
As music plays a repeating pound, my brain is yelling ‘Stop it!’
Then many tears come to my eyes, as I hold the medal in my hand.
How can we have won?
They’ll never understand…