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Blog Posted:11/6/2013 10:18:00 PM
Above the cenotaph, a dove flew
while two men gazed upon a wreath,
six decades, a chasm, between the two,
one looked puzzled, the other grieved.
Medals gleamed in the morning sun,
badges of honour, seldom worn
recall battles both lost and won,
displayed upon a pressed uniform.
A breath is held, the last post is played,
but as the ceremony comes to close,
the elder pauses, chooses to stay
and so the younger chances to impose.
"Sir, you were there as a young man
nearly seventy years ago,
Please, can you help me to understand
what it is to face the foe?
Did you inhale war's red stench?
Who in your band of brothers died?
Did you quake within each trench?
Was your fear hard to hide?
And, after all these years,
do you ever feel sorrow or regret?
Each November, do you blink back tears?
Wouldn't it be simpler to forget?"
"Forget?" The veteran rasped, quite stunned.
"Burying the past is NOT simplicity.
Son, though the war I fought is done,
this very moment, others serve over seas.
Yes, I brandish some hidden scars,
and saw too many atrocities,
but not one single memory could mar
the sacrifices made for you and me.
Freedom IS worth dying for,
but it is earned at immeasurable cost,
so when I pray for an end to all war
it is to honour the brave we've lost."
By Cyndi MacMillan, November 2006
WE WILL NEVER FORGET.
GOD BLESS ALL THOSE WHO HAVE SERVED MY COUNTRY.