Posts Tagged ‘Memorial Day”>’


I looked at this, and looked again
At flowers spelling DAD.
I may be dreaming, but e’en they
Seem teary-eyed and sad.


photo by Robert Linder at


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.


Read Full Post »

English: Picture of graves decorated with flag...

Arlington National Cemetery (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Memorial Day

On this day and on all others,
   With a sense of legacy,
Know your freedom’s bought, our brothers –
   Keep in mind our memory. 

Teach your children what we’ve suffered;
   Tell your tots the price we paid;
Let them know that lives were offered
   So they learn how freedom’s weighed. 

Pass it to the next begetting,
   Like an heirloom handed down,
So there’s no one that’s forgetting;
   Keep it green, not dried and brown. 

Let them know we died in trenches;
   Tell them graves are ‘neath the sea;
E’en in the air, we felt death’s pinches;
   Our last words – pained poetry. 

In the flag, our blood stains ripple,
   Highest cost for liberty.
Drench the youth or daily stipple
   With the paint of history. 

Tell your children of our treasure:
   Wives and babies left behind –
acrifice that’s without measure;
   Depth of heartache undefined. 

Dead in graves aren’t all that’s buried
   Widows, orphans shattered, too;
Joy and peace to Hades ferried
   Left? A lifetime full of rue. 

That we did for precious freedom,
   Knowing cost before we went.
Never treat us like a wee crumb,
   Like a worthless copper cent. 

Ring the bell throughout the ages;
   Tell our tale, how freedom’s bought.
Let our stories fill the pages;
   We ask no more than what we ought.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.


Read Full Post »

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.

Read Full Post »