Friday, November 11, 2005

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 an Honoured Son
Of one great family.

- Anonymous

The Royal Canadian Legion

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1 comment:

The Sanity Inspector said...

You in Canada ... cannot realize at all what war is like. You must see it and live it. You must see the barren deserts war has made of once fertile country ... see the turned-up graves, see the dead on the field, freakishly mutilated - headless, legless, stomachless, a
perfect body and a passive face and a broken empty skull - see your own countrymen, unidentified, thrown into a cart, their coats over them, boys digging a grave in a land of yellow slimy mud and green pools of water under a weeping sky. You must have heard the screeching shells and have the shrapnel fall around you, whistling by you - seen the results of it, seen scores of horses, bits of horses lying around in the open - in the street and soldiers marching by these scenes as if they never knew of their presence. Until you've lived this ... you cannot know.
-- F. H. Varley, April 1918