3 thoughts on “Memorial Day”

  2. Reclaiming Lost GoodsMalta still bakes. Gibraltar still towers,As the poppies glow red in a blood field of flowers –All the hedgerows remain, as oft do the fountainsWhose water flows brashly from springs in the mountains.The weather remains “French’– or, it seems that it does,All the roses are keen for the bees’ busy buzz,And the evening has grace – as it did, once before,E’re the cannons spoke out as the heralds of war.How did Nature proceed with decorum and grace,Amongst dead and dying who littered this place? I think I know how – but will never know why,But I’m back for my buddies – snd I promise: I’ll try.To remember a name of lad just 18,Who ran off from the farm – and was ne’er again seenIn the fullness of life, ascending to power,Long years he has slept in death’s dreamless bower.I had come to discover this old mother’s sonIn a Hell become harvest, full of what war had done,To tell him she loved him – will love him for aye –But her Bob cannot hear it; no tear dims his eye.His short life ended by another his age,His comrades reacted with panic or rage,As Bob was acquainted with grim Sergeant DeathWho patiently awaited the lad’s final breath.When the brawl had gone bleary – and they all had enough,It petered-out piecemeal, then, Angus MacDuffFetched Bob and removed him – then took him away,As we wept bitter tears on that terrible day.Tomorrow, I travel to see his Last Home,With the Dutch windmills wheeling, I’ve drive by alone,Vexed full in the knowledge I can’t bring him back,This pilgrimage teaches of strength that I lack;Oh, Paris is pretty – Berlin shines, renewed,And the poppies in Flanders today were bedewedAs I drove in, at dawning, that kid humbled me,For Robert died young, that an old man might see:Might see, and remember – the many – the one.And tell Mrs. Smith of the hero – her son. 09/22/06Never forget. CAPT Steve Myers USN (ret.)

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