Heritage

The poppies glow like crimson tears
across the fields of Flanders still.
They dim not with the passing years
I do not think they ever will.
The rich earth here is fertilized
with the hearts blood of a myriad men
Who thought their lives well sacrificed
to bring the world to peace again.
This was the war to end all wars
a task it failed at dismally
For mankind seems to fight because
he has no other legacy
to pass down to his progeny
than how to kill efficiently.


Thou art my love

Thy locks are silver dusted now with age,
thine alabaster brow now marked with lines
Both joy and sadness have written on thy page
but still the beauty from within thee shines.
The bloom of youth no longer on thy cheek,
thy curves are softer now than what they were
but to thee still soft words of love I speak
Thou art my love and to thee none compare.
thou art my love and in thy smile I glow
Thou art the sun and moon and stars to me
the love I bear for thee must daily grow
what matters passing time to me and thee.
Thy love for me, my love for thee must be
a love song that is sung eternally.

Guru

My English teacher was a clever man,
enthusiastic about what he taught.
He taught us how to translate every thought
into the written word and how to plan.
Each project that we undertook, began
with some research, to find the words we sought,
ended by editing what we had wrought.
Poems we had to read aloud and scan.
He opened wide for us the magic door,
gave each of us the key to fairyland.
We learned to love the finest literature.
Then our imaginations could command
other worlds of fantasy we could explore
at will. In terms that we could understand.