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.