REMEMBERING

Through the travail of toil and sweat known by every hand
the memory of each generation is often stained and scarred
with valiant images from war's crimson sacrifice of man.

Upon the distant fields where so much blood was shed
there rises from the smoke and stench the voices of the slain
calling out to the women they left to defend
to never forget the terrible price paid under the scorching sun
that might preserve and restore the fragile garment of liberty.

Dazed widows struggling through tear stained, grief stricken eyes
bravely smile through the darkest low point of life
fighting back the sobs while draped in mourner's black
never surrendering for the sake of their children to the urge to wail
while inwardly dying with hate over the insane heritage of battle
that robbed them of their loves and lives.

Driven to courageously defend a legacy of proud, but poignant patriotism
so their children will see only something sane in the tragedy of death
they faithfully visit each white marker through heat and snow
enduring the onslaught from a blizzard of sadness
speaking in heart wrenching prayers and laments
about the perishable high of hope
before leaving with an offspring's trusting hand clutching their own
in order that each impressionable eye shall know of heroes and courage
till tomorrow when some of them march off to die on foreign soil
willingly doing so because of their mother's vigilance in,
remembering.