He stands there, carved in granite chill,
outlined against the sky.
He had to fight, against his will:
to live, only to die.
Alone there in cold autumn rain,
he stands aloof and proud:
he wears a look of death and pain,
with fallen leaves his shroud.
Still, his head is held up high,
determined is his chin.
His eyes look far, beyond the sky:
on his lips, a cynic’s grin.
For when he heard his country call,
to a foreign land he came;
and hard he fought, at last to fall
where no one knew his name.
Welcome, and Namaste
Greetings fellow travellers,
For you American friends visiting, you will notice that this old Canadian uses Canadian English in this blog: kindly bear with me. As I blog primarily on subjects that are vitally interesting to me, I appreciate all feedback.
As I tend to be a bit of a language usage freak, I will, as required, edit obscenity and rude comments. That said, I welcome your opinions and discussion.
May your Dharma be clear
Peace
"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended:
That you have but slumb'red here,
While these visions did appear."
Puck’s epilogue to A Midsummer Night’s Dream
