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Veterans All This page is dedicated to all who serve and who have served
in the cause of freedom around the world

A Father's Letter
This father's letter was read at the year 2009
Remembrance Day Service
in the Lacombe Memorial Centre - LMC) Now having a son fighting for my freedoms, freedoms to which I have contributed nothing, I am left with a deep feeling of shame. I have abused this privilege, I have demanded these FREEDOMS', yet never once have I been seeking out ways to earn them. Sure once in a while I will buy a poppy, bow my head and shake a veteran's hand and say thank you, but the truth is … I never really understood what it meant until my son took up the colours and went out and prepared himself to fight and potentially make the ultimate sacrifice so I could come and go as I pleased, without consideration of the cost of this FREEDOM.
It is bad enough to send him halfway around the world to earn my FREEDOMS, it is a far greater thing he does this day, than I could do in a thousand days. It is not enough that I sit and remember, it is not enough by a measure too small to notice, but notice I do. This pit sits in my stomach and causes me much pain, because I know I have lived a life of plenty and never once thought of the cost…. Until now!
Having traveled to and from more than 20 different countries around the world, breaking bread with Bedouin gypsies in the deserts of Yemen, to witnessing the horrors of a public flogging in Dubai, standing on the ancient grounds in Carthage North Africa where historic battles were fought and won by men not much older than my son, and while I was wandering the streets of extreme poverty in Indonesia, I have never once felt more afraid for my lack of understanding than I do today.
It is not just November 11 that brings me to remembrance, it has become personal. I cannot shake the memory of the little boy who could barely walk, the little boy who could barely speak, the little boy with a quick smile and a heartfelt laugh that compelled me to laugh along with him, this little boy so full of love that has now grown to a man and has answered the call, he is knowingly, going off to put himself in harm's way to ensure I can come and go unnoticed, so that I can lead a solitary life of complacency. No more, no more, no more.
I find myself sitting in Santa Cruz Bolivia wishing I was next to Elijah in Afghanistan, doing what a parent can only hope to do, protect my child from harm! But I cannot, I can only pray that our great and merciful FATHER will find it in HIS will to watch over my little boy, to keep him from harm and bring him home safe. If only in HIS will.
When Elijah was born, I never once thought he would be carrying a rifle into battle, where he would be crouched in some hole in a foreign land to protect the very FREEDOM I selfishly expect, the right to walk down my street, drive down the road and come and go as I please, it really does not make a difference to me today, I would give it all up to ensure my son makes it home.
GOD asks us to be willing to serve, few of us are truly put to the test, it is not enough to fight, but rather to lead, lead in the path that sets an example for others to follow, so I ask myself, am I worthy to be blessed with a son who is not only willing but has the conviction of spirit to trust in GOD's great and merciful will? Who by his actions - leads !
Remembrance day has come on gone over my 49 years, sometimes I "remember" but this year I am saddened by my complete and total misunderstanding of FREEDOM.
You see, it is not about ourselves, it is about others, no one cares how much you know, until they know how much you care !
They will know !
Thank you Elijah, you are constantly in my prayers!
Brad
From the Moro River Cemetery
( :A sonnet by Laurel Deedrick-Mayne :) I used to see the war in black and white,
From photos, books and newsreels of the day,
Where nameless soldiers marched into the fray.
Detached, I studied details of their flight.
But in the cemetery bathed in light
I began to see the war in shades of grey.
Father, sons and brothers rest so far away
From lips that would have bid a brief "good-night".
I wished each one a moment from his youth
Where in some loving arms he'd laid his head
Or let him see the beauty of this place
Where a symphony of birdsong sings the truth;
That he is not alone here with the dead
Where hearts set on remembrance do embrace.
Note:
Laurel is the daughter of Lacombe veteran
Dr. Dalton Deedrick and Kay Deedrick

THE VETERAN
It is the VETERAN, not the preacher,
who has given us freedom of religion.
It is the VETERAN, not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the VETERAN, not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the VETERAN, not the campus organizer,
who has given us freedom to assemble.
It is the VETERAN, not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a 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.
It is the VETERAN,
who serves under the Flag!
ETERNAL REST GRANT THEM O LORD, AND
LET PERPETUAL LIGHT SHINE UPON THEM.

Airforce Tribute
(to their Fallen Comrades)
For Johnny
Do not despair
For Johnny-head-in-air;
He sleeps as sound
As Johnny underground.
Fetch out no shroud
For Johnny-in-the-cloud;
And keep your ears
Fo him in after years.
Better by far
For Johnny-the-bright-star,
To keep your head,
And see his children fed.
John Pudney

Holland 65 year anniversary ribbon

There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.
" Step forward now, you soldier,
You've borne your burden well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets;
You've done your time in Hell ".
` Author Unknown '
Just A Common Soldier A Soldier Died Today )
by A. Lawrence Vaincourt 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 neighbours, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole 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
A guy who breaks his promises 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?
A 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.
It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honour while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.

Poems From the Battlefield
" We few, we happy few, we band of brothers "
( Shakespeare - King Henry V )

(These poems are reproduced here, as written, by soldiers
in the battlefields of Italy during WWII.)
Published in Rome, Italy by Canadian Public Relations Services during February 1945.

" Give a soldier a stub of lead pencil and a piece of paper and the first thing you know he's written a poem.
Maybe all men are poets at heart and it just takes a war to
awaken this hidden talent, for it is a fact that some really great poetry
has been- written by soldiers in this and other wars.

Perhaps it is because there is plenty of time to think in the army.
Those long vigils when dug in and waiting for something to happen. Those black, bleak nights
when sleep will not come, give plenty of opportunity to think - to 'look inside oneself'.

It is then very often that, by the light of a guttering candle
in some shell-blasted 'casa', or in some not so nice cozy slit trench,
poems are born. They do not come
full-fledged, but haltingly - perhaps only a few words,
a line or two, on the back of a tattered envelope or scribbled on a cigarette box.

The Maple Leaf (newspaper) has, during the past year, published some excellent poetry -
poems gay and whimsical, poems tragic, poems nostalgic.
Now we are pleased to present to you a small collection of some of the best of this soldier verse.
It represents by no means all of the good poetry which has appeared in the weekly in
"Rhyme and Reason" column, but the verses re-published herewith have been selected
by a competent committee of judges as 'molto buono'.

We hope you'll like this little souvenir, a memento of Italy from The Maple Leaf. "

(C.W. Gilchrist) Lt. Col. Canadian Assistant Director
of Public Relations Allied Force Headquarters. 1945

ABOUT P.O.W. s
I wonder what they think and dream
Inside that Compound wire,
For they are human with their love,
And hate, and heart's desire.
These men have steered a lurching tank;
Dropped bombs on London town,.
And from the lurking submarine
Have sent our convoys down.
Wearing that alien uniform
That we were taught to dread,
They do not look so fearsome now.
And somehow hate lies dead.
I understand that far-off look-
I know their anxious yearning;
My loved ones, too, are far away
And my heart, too is burning.
But as I sit and ponder
Upon their dastard feats,
Pity dies within me.
And red-hot anger beats.
They bombed our open cities _
( My kindred lived in one ),
And shot at helpless refugees
Where war-torn roadways run..
They sank the lone tramp steamer,
And as she settled down,
Turned loose their fire on open boats
To watch our seamen drown.
So as I watch the prisoners
Inside the Compound gate,
And know their deeds to me and mine -
Have I not cause to hate ?
E.A.DOWSON
"FIRST" First in training for battle,
First in tactics of war;
Of Death, at German's door.
First and foremost in struggle,
First to settle the score -
First Canadian Army
And First Canadian Corps. J.L.W.
REQUEST OF THE FALLEN We lay them down in foreign lands
Beneath the cold, damp sod;
Their work on earth accomplished,
Their souls we give to God.
Brave lads of our Dominion,
From east unto the west
Begrudging not their sacrifice-
God grant their last request.
Let not future generations
As they journey on through life.
Be called upon to settle
Another world of strife.
Give nations, Lord, the power
Of vision strong, to see
That a world of friendly neighbors
A peaceful world would be.
Let man heed not to color,
Nor criticize of creed;
Abolish, Good Lord, from them
Their greatest foe - of greed.
Then we, Thy sons, the fallen,
That Freedom might remain,
Will sleep in peace well knowing,
We have not died in vain . J.W. OLDFORD
MOTHER There's a breathless hush in the room tonight,
There's an air raid on, and heavens are bright,
The sky in full of smoke and planes
Shrapnel is dropping on country lanes.
The power if off, Black fills the night,
But somewhere, near me, I see a light
Your picture stands beside my bed -
A radiant halo round your head.
It seems to brighten up the room,
When you are near, there is no gloom,
Your picture is all I have left, you see,
But I feel that it is protecting me.
The raid is over - the light beams bright;
I kneel, and pray, with all my might;
I pray that you will ever be
There when danger threatens me . E.C.C.
WOMEN OF ROME Raven-black tresses, perfumed and sweet,
Beckoning sloe-eyes, alive yet asleep;
Free-flowing hips with serpentuous sway,
Thighs framed by shadows forever at play;
Beauties unequalled 'neath Heaven's blue dome, You gladdening, maddening women of Rome. G.H.ADLAM
GRUB GRIPE Of all mysterious dishes, we
Award the palm to "M and V"
Whate'er the ingredients, on the whole 'tis
Next-of-kin to linseed poultice.
No fouler bird exists, I ween.
Than "Chicken a la Argentine".
My blueprint for Utopia's brief -
Eliminate all bully-beef . VOICE OF EXPERIENCE
PEACE IN WAR It's peaceful in the twilight
As the shades of eve come down,
And all is hushed and quiet
Throughout the mountain town.
There is something 'bout this hour,
Controlled by God's own hand,
As though to bring a spell of peace
To a heaving, shell-rocked land.
The dogs of war, exhausted,
Have lay them down to rest;
'Tis the hour of the evening
That the soldier loves the best.
And sitting in the twilight
Beneath the heavenly dome,
A soldier's thoughts are not of war,
But of a far-off home.
We are thankful, Lord in Heaven,
For the hour that You've set
For us to dwell on days of yore
In peace - lest we forget. J.W. OLDFORD
'TWAS NOT IN VAIN Once more we have our "Flanders Field"-
Again the poppies grow,
And like the last great fight, we see
The crosses row on row;
For brave men lie 'neath foreign soil
In lasting peace and free from toil.
Who knows their thought as they passed on
To that Great Land above?
With dimming eyes I'm sure they saw
Their homes - the ones they loved;
They gave up life, the price supreme,
To rid the world of a madman's dream.
How gallantly they fought and died;
Their last wish was that we
Would carry on' they knew some day
They'd share our victory;
So we'll keep faith and thus they'll know
They helped make peace on Earth below.
As in the last war, so in this,
God calls men to his side,
They'll live in joy eternal -
We'll think of them with pride;
And well we may, they gave up all
That good might live and evil fall.
So sleep, brave warriors, you must know
The years can never dim
Your mem'ry, valor, sacrifice,
As now you rest with Him.
We'll make a world where free folk reign,
And then you'll know - 'twas not in vain . GEORGE DOWNIE
IN MEMORIAM (This verse was written by the wife of a sergeant
in the Ld SH who was killed during Melfa River action) It seems he was too young to die
Yet had he lived a normal span
Could he have left a finer record?
Would he have died a better man?
He has gone out to meet his Maker,
Full of the charity of Youth,
Serving his fellows boldly, bravely,
Fighting a battle for the Truth.
Many an old and hardened heart
Would envy him - his youthful fame
His dear, brief life, his ardent soul,
His noble end, his honored name .
TO THEIR FUTURE "What does he want who me returns?
What are the things for which he yearns?
I ask this question day by day,
And this is what they mostly say:
"The loving embrace of a wife,
Little children to share their life,
A home that is in fact secure,
A peace on earth that will endure,
Time to work and time to play,
A chance to have a holiday,
The opportunity to acquire
Enough of world's goods to retire,
To live, but in a modest way,
To help some fellow every day,
And strive to build a strong foundation
For an ever-growing nation."
These are the things of which they speak,
No nobler theme could you seek.
They left as boys, now they are men,
Grant soon they may be home again.
For life and love await them there,
And no place can with Home compare
. G.R.SIMPSON
SOLDIER'S ANTHEM O Canada, My Canada!
How I long to see your shore
Rise out of the sea, and grow
Till our ship, no longer large,
Slips into your welcome arms.
To feel your soil beneath my feet before
I mount an iron steed, and speed
Across your vast domain
Till I am home again
In Canada, My Canada.
JACK SEMCZUK
FOR BLAKE Your day was brief, the sun you hardly knew,
Cool, morning air of youth your lungs inhaled;
You walked the forenoon earth, still damp with dew,
Knew not the world that later hours regaled.
For those whom God decreed should still remain
To witness sunrise, sunset, night and day.
Night's calm nor day light's warmth shall quell the pain
Of knowledge that a friend has passed away .
G.W.P.
THESE THINGS REMAIN The meadows lush with Springtime
And birdsong sounding gay,
The golden tints of Autumn,
Trees in their green array.
The song of running water,
Fresh green of springing grain,
The gleam of new turned furrows
Sweet-smelling, after rain,
Cows grazing in a pasture,
Trails through a winter wood,
The busy stir of harvest,
We know that these are good.
These things shall last the lifetime
Of this old, battered earth,
After the war's mad frenzy
These are the things of worth .
E.OWSON
LETTER FROM HOME
(Excerpts from a letter in rhyme written to a lad in
the Irish Regiment by his mother). Again I sit down to write you a letter,
Hope you are well; we couldn't e better.
I've plenty of paper and plenty of time
So just to be different I'll write this in rhyme.
It is Sunday and things have been quiet all day;
Shirley is here, with her father and May.
Supper is over and work is all done,
We're out in the yard watching Shirley have fun
I think you have chosen a lovely girl, Jack,
And we'll all be waiting to welcome you back;
We'll throw a big party and have so much fun.
I'll let the whole world know I'm proud of my son.
You will have the position in life that you've earned
And you'll use to advantage the lessons you've learned;
So just keep your chin up and don't you forget
There is happiness coming to all of you yet.
And there is a favor - please do it for me,
It will please me so much that I know you'll agree;
You remember the Psalm that you used to recite -
"The Lord is My Shepherd" Please say it tonight.
Say it aloud so the fellows can hear,
It will strengthen their courage and banish their fear.
By now I have written 'about all I can write.
I think time has come that I say "Good night".
So now that I'm finished, the letter is done;
May God bless you, Jack.
Loads of love from ,
your Mom .
EYES HEAVENWARD This is my prayer, breathed from the heart
As here I stand, mud-stained and weary
In a land not mine.
Moving to the Whims of a Destiny
Born of an aimless union with two clashing thoughts
Which in their time have grown too great for me,
Shorn me of every conviction except that I am right
To groan "This is my fight", and stay in foreign places
Till there's an end of it.
Make me this night a thing apart
From all this mad cacophony of sound
That tears the mind of man from that which
He would dream of
When the Star of the East is a its height.
Cause me to tremble never more
At hated sounds of hate itself
Screaming through the night that should
Of all nights be serene,
Starbright, not lit by winged Death
Making sacrilegious noises in its whining flight.
And when I have done my part, and spanned
My spell of service in places I can never grow to love
Carry me then over the windswept, wide and clean
Expanse of ocean to the place that is my life.
( R. P. )
LETTER TO "ANDY" Dear Sir, with pleasure we report
Of recent action here,
And also feats of brothers, friends,
'Though in a different sphere.
Our present leaders, able, tough,
With us, have won acclaim;
In Italy, in Normandy,
Results have been the same.
The Hun is being driven back,
He knows not where to turn.
(Recalling days of '40, Sir,
It's nice to see him squirm).
The battle's far from over
But we're keen to play our part;
We're still the blade you termed us,
Edging close to Berlin's heart.
The tempered steel of Canada's men
Has smote the Nazi horde;
We'd like to take time out to thank
The man who forged the Sword.
( J. E. C. )
SICK OF IT So you're sick of the way the country's run,
And you're sick of the way the rationing's done,
And you're sick of standing around in line.
You're sick, you say. Well, ain't that fine?
For I am sick of the sun and the heat,
And I'm sick of the feel of my aching feet,
And sick of the siren's wailing shriek,
And I'm sick of the groans of the wounded and weak.
I'm sick of the slaughter, I'm sick to my soul,
I'm sick of playing the killer's role,
And I'm sick, damned sick, of myself as well.
But I'm sicker still of the tyrant's rule,
And conquered lands where the wild beasts drool,
And I'm cured damned quick when I think of the day
When all this hell will be out of the way;
When none of this mess will have been in vain,
And the lights of the world will blaze again,
And the Axis flags will be dipped and furled,
And God looks down on a perfect world. . CRAIG HEATHE
STOP AND LISTEN Take a moment, friend or neighbor,
Passing Stranger it may be,
To consider at your leisure,
Things that shortly are to be.
War on every hand arising,
Earthquakes of tremendous force.
Ocean wrecks, with fear and bloodshed
Now seem scarcely out of course.

Are we getting harder hearted"
As we hear the awful sound of dissolving nations crumbling?. . PRE. JOHN WELCH
REMINDERS Think of the lad who was duly warned,
But now at home is sorrowfully mourned.
Booby-traps he couldn't capito,
Now, alas, you'll find he's finito.
Read all signs as you go along,
And think of the boy in serge,
Who traveled too fast to notice the sign
That said "Keep off the verge". .
WILLIAM TELESKE
ONE MAN'S OPINION Keep the caviar, crepe suzettes,
Spice of Araby, chicken croquettes,
Filet mignon or Gileads's balm!
Pass me another hunk of spam .
Ann Onymous
THE BOMBED CITY
(This poem was contributed by a British author
who has long been associated
with the Canadian Forces in Italy). I have seen my sons go marching to many an alien war,
While the women wept behind them and the gay bands played before:
Scornful if they were pitied, with a song they went away,
They with the shining morning eyes that scarce had seen the day.
And the grey years passed and they came again, triumphal flags unfurled . . .
And my heart cried out to the unreturned on the other side of the world.
Why now should I mourn that the scars of war on my own broad bosom fall?
What matters it if my body be torn when my spirit is grown so tall?
So pity me not that my homes are dark and my streets are empty of mirth . . .
I am one at last with my fallen sons in every part of the earth .
JAMES PARISH
LIRA LYRICS
By the palazzo
Where dirty ragazzo
Squabble for cigaret butts,
And garlicky Flora,
The florid signora,
Peddles her lemons and nuts,
Lives Cici Carbone
Who runs the Salone -
"Hey Joe, shave?"
Hurry on your way
Passing his doorway
Curtained with gaily-hued beads;
Bambini pursue you.
They both cry and hue you,
Shouting your barbering needs
For Cici Carbone
Who runs the Salone -
"Hey Joe, shave?"
In the piazza
Well-developed ragazza
Stroll, after hear of the day;
Ogling soldati
Half vino-happy,
Stroll, but after their pay
Is only Carbone
Who runs the Salone -
"Hey Joe, shave?"
If you're unbarbered,
Better stay harbored
Far from the Via Umberto;
For all of God's creatures
With bewhiskered features
There suffer this public concerto:
"Pass not the Salone
Of Cici Carbone . . .
"Hey Joe, shave ?"

VICTOR GOTRO
GO WEST YOUNG MAN The army's O.K., in a kind of a way -
Providin' you like it, I mean,
But this land of wops ain't a land that's tops
For a finer country I've seen.
'Tis across the sea where people are free,
And to me 'twill be Paradise
When I settle down near the ol' home town,
'Neath blue Alberta skies .
G. RIES (RCA)
LEST YOU FORGET Come hither, thou, but softly tread
For this is sacred ground. And we
Who heard the call to help set free
The peoples of the world, lie dead
Beneath these rows of crosses white;
We rest the while, no more to fight.
When guns be still'd and tumult cease,
And wars no more disturb the world,
When Freedom's flag is full unfurl'd,
And nations live again in Peace,
Keep thou in mind the goal we set;
We shall not sleep if you forget.
For Freedom's sake did we endure
The pangs of war. We do but ask
That you will carry on our task
And everlasting Peace ensure.
Work, strive for this; goodwill maintain,
Then will our lives be not in vain .
"MEL"
REMEMBER PONTECORVO On the road from Pontecorvo,
As you move down from the line,
There are rows of wooden crosses
All painted white, and fine.
They're the headstones for the fallen,
Who underneath do lie;
They're the men who came for Canada,
To fight for Peace - and die.
They're the stalwart sons of Freedom
That came from farm and mine;
They're the stalwart sons of Canada
Who broke the Hitler Line.
As you walk through rows of crosses,
As quiet as the spring,
The wanton breezes murmur
"The Torch to you, we fling",
They've caught the Torch, and held it,
And kept it bright aflame,
And dying, throw the challenge-
"We expect of you, the same".
When history is written
And we all in Peace abide,
Remember Pontecorvo,
And the men who fought and died .
P.J. POWER
TO HIS MISTRESS' EYEBROW A ballad to your eyebrow, Fairest One?
That is the pleasant task that Shakespeare set
As one befitting lovers; therefore let
Me try my hand' it should be easily done.
Its graceful curve - that, I could dwell upon
In glowing words (if I could just forget
Those other curves, more ''luring, softer yet,
Whish still my pen before I have begin,
With marveling); or I could haply sing
The lovely invitation it extends
When subtly lifted, save that everything
About you does invite when you're inclined.
How can I sing of what one brow portends
When all of you is so much on my mind ?
( R.E.B. )
FRONT-LINE JOHNNIES 'Twas a sultry day of battle
Muddy Melfa flowed below
And all Hell was a-poppin'
'Bove the water's undertow.
When thru' the smoke-filled valley
Charged two men, chock full of guts
blasting for themselves an alley
Thru' the truck and trailer ruts.
Remember, Hell was breaking loose
Hot missles screamed around
But our heroes, both undaunted
Streaked for ever higher ground.
It wasn't that they shunned the noise
Or yet the flying lead.
They simply wished to occupy
A slit-trench straw-filled bed.
Diving o'er the parapet
They heard the Spandau's rattle
And Taylor said to Heahy
"B" Ech' (Echelon) is in a battle
We must advance to give them aid.
If only as a favor
Besides I left with Georgie Pitt
My gum and last Life Saver
The battle soon was over
As down the line they came
And they were really "toasted"
These undaunted guys gained fame.
And now they lounge at well-earned ease
Swilling beer and Vino
As they await their two V.C.'s
These heroes of Cassino.
( Buster - N. B. H. )
MUSSO LIED
The duplicity
Of Italy
Lies in its simplicity -
It's nothing but mountains
And fountains.
( R. P. )
WHEN YOU RETURN When you return I shall not question you
On all your little deeds since that far day
Time wedged our paths apart. I shall not say
As others might, who missed our presence, too:
"How did you like the town of so and so?"
Or some such phrase friends utter, unconcerned;
What use are casual words to those who learned
One day, in silence, all they need to know?
I shall abide my time and, when, at last
The clamor and the greeting all are done,
Our eyes shall meet, and silently, as one,
We shall relive one moment in the past,
And you shall know, though lips let no word fall,
That in my heart you did not leave at all .
( Sent by F.E. Bender, CPC )
YOUR FRIEND If he laughs when you are gay,
If he grieves when you are sad,
If he tolerates your follies
Without end.
If he makes your way his way,
If his presence makes you glad,
If he knows your faults yet loves you
He's your friend.
( Anonymous )
Ghosts of the Living In these our days, I find myself a stranger;
The summers which the years divide for me
Are lived by people unconfined by danger--
With whom I left my heart; when I was free.
In every haunted, tall, fantastic city,
In prairie stillness by secluded streams,
Beyond the sunset, strange to praise of pity,
Unnumbered, unlived lives remain as dreams. .
( Matthew Wherry )
THE NATION'S STRENGTH I know three things must always be
To keep a nation strong and free.
One is a hearthstone bright and dear,
With busy, happy, loved ones near.
One is a ready heart and hand
To love, and serve, and keep the land.
One is a worn and beaten way
To where the people go to pray.
Nation and people will survive,
So long as these are kept alive,
God, keep them always, everywhere,
The hearth, the flag, the place of prayer .
( Anonymous )

Lest We Forget

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