Remembrance Day
Poem Recitation
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We Remember Them
Ring Around the World
Oh World
In Flanders Field
Speak Not To Me
The Poppy
War and Peace
War’s Children
Poem
A Field of Poppies
My Grandpa Ben
This Was My Brother
Lie in the Dark and Listen
Promoted
Prayer Before Battle
An Honoured Son
The Children’s Song
Speak Not of War
They Live in Memory
My Father Says
Why Wear a Poppy?
Immortality
High Flight
The Gift of Peace
Memories
A Child’s Day of Remembrance
For the Fallen
O God, Our Help in Ages Past
O Valiant Hearts
Spirits Into Flowers
Forget Me Not
Remembrance Day
Remembrance Dove
Thank You
The Unknown Soldiers
A Soldier Died Today
Reply to Flanders Field
The Hills of Bastogne
3
We Remember Them
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow,
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted.
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They 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.
Laurence Binyon
Ring Around the World
Ring around the world
Taking hands together
All across the temperate
And the torrid weather.
Past the royal palm-trees
By the ocean sand
Make a ring around the world
Taking each other’s hand;
In the valleys, on the hill,
Over the prairie spaces,
There’s a ring around the world
Made of children’s friendly faces.
Annette Wynne
Oh World
Oh world of wind and snow and rain,
Of fern and flower and fruit and grain;
Oh world of sky and cloud and sun
Where children grow and dream and run;
Oh world of land and sea and stone,
Let love and peace be ours to own.
Lee Blair
4
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly.
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
Who shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
John McCrae
Speak Not To Me
Speak not to me of war,
For my eyes don’t want to see,
The bloody pictures painted
By the teller carefully.
Speak not to me of war,
For my ears don’t wish to hear,
The awful tales retold
From one who had been near.
Speak not to me of battles,
Nor whom the victor be
O’re a useless state of combat
Due to man’s stupidity.
But speak to me of giving,
Until there’s nothing left,
And the courage those men did show
As they took their last quick breath.
Camille Birn
5
The Poppy
An innocent scarlet bloom
So far away in France
That listened to the gun boom
And watched war’s game of chance
Saw young men perish weeping
Bathed in pools of red
That same that now lie sleeping
Beneath the poppy’s bed.
Cherylanne Wade
War and Peace
Cannons, grenades, missiles and guns,
threatened the lives of daughters and sons.
They went to war for everyone here,
so we could be free and live without fear.
They gave their lives for our country,
the greatest sacrifice that could ever be.
Will peace come out of war?
Will there be fighting any more?
We must have hope to bring about
the dream of peace without a doubt.
We hear the trumpet’s piercing sound.
it sadly echoes all around.
So wear a poppy and let us remember,
this important time in November.
Shawn Evans
6
War’s Children
The children –
deserted,
forgotten,
thin clothing.
Terrible dreams
of war,
soldiers, and weapons.
They suffered too –
of hunger,
disease,
and neglect.
No parents –
not anymore –
Just loneliness
in the cold,
dark
night.
They cried –
those children
who were left
to suffer,
to die.
Poem
One little flower
Had a lot to say
To tell us about Remembrance Day;
On November 11th
The war had ended,
And many soldiers died
For the country they defended.
The poppy tells us
To put on graves,
Flowers and wreaths
For our soldiers brave.
W. H. Ford School, Regina
7
A Field of Poppies
A field of poppies
Is like
A field of memories
Standing
Tall and proud
Whistling
In the wind
Fading
And growing
In
Rain or shine
Like
Memories shimmering
But
Never dying
After
Years they nearly die
But
Like a poppy
It
Is rekindled
Remember
A field of poppies
Is
Like a field of memories
Never dying
Never growing
Only fading.
Daniel Tubb
8
My Grandpa Ben
I knew a special man I called him Grandpa Ben,
He went to war with so many young men.
The date was September 1942;
He left for Africa, Italy, and France, just to name a few.
He was in Germany in 1945,
The war was over and he had survived!
I often wonder why he chose to fight;
He did it so we could have the right,
To choose our religion and live in peace.
So battles and wars could finally cease.
My grandpa’s old medals are in a large frame,
Other veterans have the same.
So please remember the women and men,
They were all special, like my Grandpa Ben.
Kirk Meyers
9
This Was My Brother
This was my brother
At Dieppe,
Quietly a hero
Who gave his life
Like a gift
Withholding nothing.
His youth . . . his love
His enjoyment of being alive
His future, like a book
With half the pages still uncut –
This was my brother
At Dieppe –
The one who built me a doll(dog)house
When I was seven,
Complete to the last small picture(door) frame,
Nothing forgotten.
He was awfully good at fixing things,
At stepping into the breach when he was needed.
That’s what he did at Dieppe;
He was needed.
And even Death must have been a little shamed
At his eagerness.
Mona Gould
10
Lie in the Dark and Listen
Lie in the dark and listen.
It’s clear tonight, so they’re flying high.
Hundreds of them, thousands perhaps,
Riding the icy, moonlit sky,
Men, machinery, bombs, and maps,
Altimeters and guns and charts,
Coffee, sandwiches, fleece-lined boots,
Bones and muscles and minds and hearts,
English saplings with English roots
Deep in the earth they’ve left below.
Lie in the dark and let them go
Lie in the dark and listen.
Lie in the dark and listen.
They’re going over in waves and waves
High above villages, hills and streams
Country churches and little graves,
And little citizens’ worried dreams’
Very soon they’ll have reached the sea
And far below them will lie the bays
And cliffs and sands whey they used to be
Taken for summer holidays.
Lie in the dark and let them go;
Theirs is a world we’ll never know.
Lie in the dark and listen.
Noel Coward
11
Promoted
There was his duty to be done –
And he did it:
No thought of glory to be won;
There was his duty to be done –
And he did it.
Wounded when scarce the fight begun,
Of all his fellows left not one;
There was his duty to be done –
And he did it.
Death’s fiery hail he did not shun,
Fearless he stood, unmoved, alone,
Beside his eager, useless gun;
There was his duty to be done –
And he did it.
Canada, be proud of such a son,
Deathless the fame that he has won,
Only a boy – but such a one!
Standing forever to his gun;
There was his duty to be done –
And he did it.
Let every soul in all the land
Revere his steadfast loyalty.
Canada shall all unconquered stand
While she can breed such sons as he.
His brave short life was nobly planned
On lines of perfect fealty,
His death fulfilled his King’s command,
“Aye, ready be, to come to Me!”
And he did it.
John Oxenhame
12
Prayer Before Battle
When ‘neath the rumble of the guns
I lead my men against the Huns
It’s then I feel so all alone and weak and scared
And oft I wonder how I dared
Accept the task of leading men.
I wonder, worry, fret, and then – I pray:
O God, who promised oft
To humble men to lend and ear,
Now in my troubled state of mind
Draw near, O God, draw near – draw near
Make me more willing to obey,
Help me to merit my command,
And, if this be my fatal day
Reach out, O God, Thy helping hand
And lead me down that deep dark vale.
Those men of mine must never know
How afraid I really am,
Help me to lead them in the fight
So they will say – “He was a man.”
Major Alex Campbell
13
An Honoured Son
He came, this young Canadian,
From out the Golden West,
Full of courage and of faith,
Of ardor, hope and zest.
A willing volunteer, he came –
And offered us his life –
His youth, his strength, his heart and soul
To fling into the strife.
The final sacrifice he made,
He lies in foreign earth –
Far from home, an exile
From the country of his birth.
And yet, amongst his kin he sleeps
In friendly company –
No stranger, but and Honoured Son
Of one great family.
Anonymous
14
The Children’s Song
Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee
Our love and toil in the years to be:
When we are grown and take our place,
As men and women with our race.
Father in Heaven, who lovest all,
O help Thy children when they call;
That they may build from age to age,
An undefiled heritage.
Teach us to bear the yoke in youth,
With steadfastness and careful truth;
That, in our time, The Grace my give
The Truth whereby the Nations live.
Teach us the Strength that cannot seek,
By deed or thought, to hurt the weak;
That, under thee, we may possess
Man’s strength to succour man’s distress.
Teach us Delight in simple things,
And Mirth that has so bitter springs;
Forgiveness free of evil done,
And Love to all men ‘neath the sun!
Land of our Birth, our faith, our pride,
For whose dear sake our father died.
O Motherland, we pledge to thee,
Head, heart, and hand through the years to be!
15
Speak Not of War
I know not of war, for I was far from
born when its icy hand gripped
each heart, and tore our
countrymen from their land.
I saw not, what ravages were left, what
cities were destroyed, what homes
were left buried under the sea of
bombs.
I heard not, the screams of human life
which pleaded to exist, the screams
of innocent children, who could
not fathom what it all was for.
I felt not, the pain, the despair, the
loneliness, the fear of life, of
death.
And I do not understand.
But I see those who are left of the war,
those who knew the war, those
who saw the war, those who heard
the screams, and felt the pain.
And I watch them as they stand alone
on corners, and give their priceless
poppies, and I look into their eyes,
and on their faces. And I
understand, for deep within their
eyes they seem to say,
“Speak not of battles lost or won, but
remember those who fought them
for you. Speak not of death but
remember the dead. Speak not of
war, but of glory, our glory, and
the glory of our purpose. Speak not
of war.”
Liam Laurence
.
16
They Live in Memory
When memory is dim and old,
And the long story has been told,
They who fight death at last will claim
Enduring honors for their name.
Under hot suns and quiet stars
They bandage the fierce work of Mars.
On many a wet and frozen track
They beat death’s fearsome presence back.
When savage war at last is done,
The cause of freedom fully won,
Their thought will be in silent hours
Of grave not made among the flowers.
Their thought will turn to happy ways,
Men who were saved for gladder days.
Hearts unbereft will think of them,
And give their names in diadem.
Clarence Edwin Flynn
17
My Father Says
I like my father’s uniform,
With gold bars and braid.
Be he says “Soldiering is more
Than marching on parade.
For when the guns are bellowing
And bullets whizzing past,
When troops must tramp through mud and rain
When hot days last and last,
Then war seems very, very bad,
Then men wish wars would cease,
That nations would be neighbors
and always live in peace.”
Of course my father ought to know
He fought with them far away,
Some were his buddies good and true
Whom we honor here today.
Harriette Wilbur
18
Why Wear a Poppy
"Please wear a poppy," the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,
And her face was old and lined with care;
But beneath the scars the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.
A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on care-free feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun,
"Lady," said he, "May I have one?"
When she'd pinned it on he turned to say,
"Why do we wear a poppy today?"
The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, "This is Remembrance Day.
And the poppy there is the symbol for
The gallant men who died in war.
And because they did, you and I are free That's why we wear a poppy, you see.
"I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play and jump and shout.
Free as a bird he would race about.
As the years went by he learned and grew
and became a man - as you will, too.
"He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile,
But he'd seemed with us such a little while
When war broke out and he went away.
I still remember his face that day
When he smiled at me and said, “Goodbye,
I'll be back soon, Mom, so please don't cry.”
"But the war went on and he had to stay,
And all I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight,
(I can see it still in my dreams at night),
With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And the mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.
19
“Till at last, at last, the war was won And that's why we wear a poppy son.”
The small boy turned as if to go,
Then said, "Thanks, lady, I'm glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son - did he come back all right?"
A tear rolled down each faded cheek;
She shook her head, but didn't speak.
I slunk away in a sort of shame,
And if you were me you'd have done the same;
For our thanks, in giving, if oft delayed,
Thought our freedom was bought - and thousands paid!
And so when we see the poppy worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne,
By those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their country's call
That we at home in peace might live
Then wear a poppy! Remember - and give!
Don Crawford
20
Immortality
They are not dead, the soldier and the sailor,
Fallen for Freedom’s sake;
They merely sleep with faces that are paler
Until they wake.
They will not weep, the mothers, in the years
The future will decree;
For they have died that the battles and the tears
Shall cease to be.
They will not die, the victorious and the slain
Sleeping in foreign soil;
They gave their lives, but to the world is the gain
Of their sad toil.
They are not dead, the soldier and the sailor,
Fallen for Freedom’s sake;
They merely sleep with faces that are paler
Until they wake.
Arthur S. Bourinot
21
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings’
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
On sun-split clouds – done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, nor even eagle flew –
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
Pilot Officer John G. Magee, Jr.
22
The Gift of Peace
The birds are circling overhead.
Above the crosses of the dead.
Friends and family of the slain.
Are gathered here in the pouring rain.
They weep for all the loved ones lost.
That gave their lives at any cost.
The soldiers who so strong and brave.
Are now asleep within their graves.
They laid down their lives for their country sweet.
They never knew the word defeat.
We honor and love their memories dear.
They now no longer have any fears.
We who are able to walk about free.
Must set an example for all to see.
We all have gifts that we must share.
Forgiveness, wealth, love and care.
Carolyn Brown
23
Memories
As I watch him sitting, pain in his eyes,
I sense his sorrow his tries to disguise.
As I watch him sweat, tremble and shake,
This pain he feels can not be fake.
His eyes look out yet can not see,
A world of peace and tranquility.
For in his mind and in his heart,
He sees a world that’s torn apart.
If we could look deep in his mind,
A view we hope to never find.
Great bombs, grenades, explosions too,
Still blast their memories through
And through.
His once sharp mind is blistered now,
Will it heal? I can’t see how.
A tear is swelling in his eye,
To these horrific memories he can’t
Say goodbye.
His worn out heart begins to race,
as tears flow down his solemn face.
His hopes and dreams from him did part,
All for a war he did not start.
He stiffens and his fists now clench,
For he can see a death filled trench.
His many comrade lay there dead,
This nightmare never leaves his head.
If I could take his pain away,
And see him smile for just one day.
Within a heartbeat I would take the weight,
Of all his burdens; pains and hate.
He slowly stands my boards do creak,
For I’m a park bench old and weak.
With peeling paint and weathered wood,
I feel as though I have done some good.
For I am his haven always here,
So he can come and shed a tear.
Julie Hildebrandt
24
A Child’s Day of Remembrance
A cold, biting wind whips the waves on to the
silent sand.
Chilled and questioning a child
stands shivering.
Tiny, mittened hands driven deep into the
pockets of a down jacket.
An innocent face gazes out from underneath
a warm woolen hat. A child untouched by war,
untouched by tragedy,
unknown to the multitudes of ancient
soldiers standing at full attention
on a cracked concrete curb.
The endless list of the dead invades the
thoughts of this quiet child.
Who are these men?
And why did they die?
To a child’s blank mind, war is simply wrong
and dying is bad. There are no questions,
there are no excuses,
only life and death, only good and evil.
Silent moments and sombre echoing songs
surround this tiny figure.
Whispers of fallen comrades will forever
haunt his growing mind.
For the past, we mourn,
For the future, we remember.
Jennifer Gillis
25
For the Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children.
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill’ Death August and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They 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.
They mingle not with laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost hear of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the starts that shall be bright when we are suet,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the starts that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Binyon
26
O God, Our Help in Ages Past
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast
And our eternal home.
Under the shadow of Thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
And our defense is sure.
Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her fame,
From everlasting Thou art God,
To endless years the same.
A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like and evening gone,
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.
27
O Valiant Hearts
O Valiant hearts, who to your glory came
Through dust of conflict and through battle flame;
Tranquil you lie, your knightly virtue proved,
Your memory hallowed in the land you loved.
Proudly you gathered, rank on rank to war,
As who had heard God’s message from afar;
All you had hoped for, all you had, you gave
To save mankind – yourself you scorned to save.
Splendid you passed, the great surrender made;
Into the light that nevermore shall fade;
Deep your contentment in that blest abode,
Who wait the last clear trumpet-call of God.
Long years ago, as earth lay dark and still,
Rose a loud cry upon a lonely hill,
While in the frailty of our human clay,
Christ, our Redeemer, passed the self-same way.
Still stands His Cross from that dread hour to this,
Like some bright star above the dark abyss;
Still, through the veil, the Victor’s pitying eyes
Look down to bless our lesser Calvaries.
They 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.
28
Spirits Into Flowers
“In Flanders Fields” they often say
“The poppies always grow”
but how did the flowers get there?
I think that I might know.
When spirits left their bodies,
They were trapped beneath the soil.
Their hard work gone to waste,
But their trouble worth their toil.
As they pushed upwards, to the sky,
A seed began to grow.
And as they pushed on higher,
Red petals began to show,
Since the only color they had seen,
Was red, bright, strong and true,
That was the color they became.
Their life begun, anew.
So as they pushed towards the sky,
To breathe fresh air once more,
Flowers pushed on higher,
And spirits began to soar.
The spirits of the soldiers,
Let out of their earthy grave,
Were free again once more
It was worth their being brave.
But once the soldiers left,
Their poppies did not die.
So the spirits happy, parted,
From their poppies growing high.
So if you, perchance, happen to see,
In Flander’s Fields, a poppy grow
You won’t have to wonder why they’re there.
‘Cause now, I’m sure you know.
Alana Ingle
29
Forget Me Not
I am not just the crimson flower you name a poppy,
I am every man, who learned to say goodbye,
I left my loved ones, and the comfort of my home,
To stand up for my country, I left to go to war.
I am not just the crimson flower you wear once a year,
I am every memory that was conceived by war.
The last few favored moments, before the last farewells,
The vivid pictures in the paper, to core of every tear.
I am not just the crimson flower you see as pride,
I am every trickle of blood, every cry of pain.
I felt the wounds as they were created,
And became too weak to forget, as the converted into scars.
I am not just the crimson flower that grows among the graves,
I am every soldier who has ever fought.
Who gave their lives, to save others from pain,
And who inside they rest in eternal slumber.
I am not just the crimson flower that symbolized peace,
I am the current hindrance that blankets the world.
Peace be with us not, when America experienced grief,
I watch with anguish from afar, just how blind we are.
I am not just the crimson flower, I am so much more,
I am every life that war has affected throughout time.
Every life lost, every memory found,
I am more than a crimson flower, forget me not.
Krystal Jacobs
30
Remembrance Day
We sit in the assembly hall,
All is quiet, all is still
The two minutes of silence,
Began to cause a chill,
The coldness sweeps across us for knowing that soldiers had given their lives,
Leaving children, loved ones, wives.
But then I realize why they left their
Warm beds for cold hard ground,
Left protection for death
Left good meals for camp food.
They did it for our safety, comfort and freedom.
So as I stand here remembering those who died for us
I realize why
They chose to die
For us and our country
They were loyal, and proud
They would yell out loud
Their battle cry
“For Canada and country, we’ll fight ‘till we die, for we are loyal
and proud and willing to die for our country!”
as I think of them
I know why we have this day to remember
This day to mourn.
That’s why it’s called Remembrance Day
Fiona Anderson
31
Remembrance Dove
As the sun peeks over a hill,
And everything laid so still,
A small white bird known as a dove,
Flies so very high above.
An old man leans against a tree,
And thinks how life used to be.
He remembers when he was young,
Laughing and playing in the sun.
Then he thinks of going to war.
Seeing things he had never seen before,
Losing friends that were very dear,
And will be remembered every year.
He hears young children coming out to play,
Then his thoughts turn to a future day.
He gazes up and sees the dove,
Prays for a world of peace and love.
Carmen Porter
32
Thank You
I’m a little girl(boy), I’m only ten,
So I really can’t remember when,
Our soldiers were off to fight the war,
And our world was changed forever more.
So I look at my poppy with petals so red,
And try to think of the injured and dead.
Whether his name was Tom, Jim or Frank,
All of these soldiers I’d like to thank.
You gave me a land that’s peaceful and free,
To live in and play in, to swim in and ski.
We can share our ideas.
We don’t have to agree.
I don’t have to worry. I’m allowed to be me.
I have never met you. I never will,
But the gift that you gave me, is with me still,
So thank you, thank you for your gift of love.
May we meet someday in the land above.
Carlyn McCulloch
33
The Unknown Soldiers
At Vimy Ridge, Dieppe, the Somme,
By gas, by bayonet, by bomb,
Men lost their limbs, their lives, their youth,
They died with glory, honor, truth.
Hong Kong, Burma and Normandy,
In air, on ground, and at sea,
Troops fought to win at any price,
And made the final sacrifice.
Kaypong, Egypt, and Sicily,
Struggling on to victory,
They fell in deserts, jungles, fields,
No one surrenders, no one yields.
Monte Cassino, Passchendaele,
Places they came to know too well,
We name the battles, each campaign –
But what of the men who were slain?
Are they to be always unknown?
Merely a name chiseled in stone?
Will they be men without a face?
A life that we can just erase?
Will their names be forever lost,
Having paid the ultimate cost,
We must learn about their lives,
So their memory survives.
Let them be known throughout the land,
So each of us will understand,
The sacrifices that they made,
And why their stories must not fade.
Let each child learn about just one,
As father, brother, uncle, son,
Remember them as real men,
So through us they may live again.
Rebecca Flynn
34
A Soldier Died Today
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in
And the deeds that he had done.
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And ‘tho sometimes, to his neighbors,
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened,
For they knew whereof he spoke.
But we’ll hear his tales no longer,
For ol’ Bob has passed away,
And the world’s a little poorer,
For a soldier died today.
He won’t be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Quietly going on his way;
And the world won’t note his passing;
Tho’ a Solder died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands mourn their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories,
From the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier,
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution,
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise,
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow,
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country
And offers up his life?
The politician’s stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are sometimes disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
35
Reply to Flanders Fields
Oh! Sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your failing hands let go
Was caught by us again held high
A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below.
Your are or dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow.
We’ll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
Oh! Rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died and know,
In other fields was heard the cry
For freedom’s cause, of you who lie
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.
As in rumbling sound, to and for
The lightning flashes, sky aglow, the mighty hoses appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! Sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby …
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
John Mitchell
36
The Hills of Bastogne
The crops should be full in Belgium this year,
The soil should be fertile, but the price has been dear,
The wheat should be red on the hills of Bastogne
For its roots have been drenched by the blood of our own.
Battered and reeling we stand in their way,
It’s here we are, and here we will stay.
Embittered, wrathful, we watch our pals fall,
God, where’s the end, the end of it all?
Confident and powerful, they strike at our lines,
But we beat them back, fighting for time.
Berserk with fury, they are hitting us now,
Flesh against steel – we’ll hold – but how?
For each day that we stay, more mothers must grieve.
For each hill that we hold more men must we leave.
Yes, honor the men who will some day come home,
But pray for the men ‘neath the hills of Bastogne.
Bernard J. McKearney
37
The Veteran
It is the VETERAN, not the preacher,
Who has given us the freedom of religion.
It is the VETERAN, not the reporter,
Who has given us the freedom of the press.
It is the VETERAN, not the poet,
Who has given us the freedom of speech.
It is the VETERAN, not the campus organizer,
Who has given us the freedom to assemble.
It is the VETERAN, not the lawyer,
Who has given us the right to fair trial.
It is the VETERAN, not the politician,
Who has given us the right to vote.
It is the VETERAN
Who salutes the flag,
Eternal rest grant them O Lord,
And let perpetual light shine upon them.
God Bless Them All!