The Matching Pair by Dennis Lange

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This time sticks, and most times stones
Raised above one’s flesh and bones.
Markers for those who are left,
O’er the one of whom bereft.
Stakes of wood will rot, decay.
Stones last longer (one horse shay).
Mourners, though, are like the wood
Cannot stay like stones will, should.
Markers, then, of wood are fine.
Mourners’ time with them align.

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photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nq1PRjw/Graveyard

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

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In Flanders Fields by John D. McCrae

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
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
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
…………In Flanders fields.

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