Canadian Fields; Lest We Forget

Canadian Fields.

Atop the pedestal of the mountains
ensconced just beneath the snow
disclosed oft by the heat of memory
sanguine in the bitter cold

On the seas that both bear and bury
 infinitesimal tombs on the tide
dancing in effulgent splendor
like shrines that will ever abide

In the heavens their contrails still linger
where solo blooms have learned to take flight
seen only by the eyes of the souls
who have arrived in that endless night.

In the grass that blows in the meadow
soft blades of a sateen green
a heath of immeasurable acreage
in a country great and serene

On a sunny morn in November
with all the blessings that sacrifice yields
be inspired to always remember
that poppies bloom in all of these fields.