Memorial Day
By Eula Gladys Lincoln
In distant field of sunny France
Where strangers come and go,
Amid the farms of Flanders, where
The fragrant breezes blow,
Our solder-dead in quiet sleep
Neath crosses row on row.
Here shrapnel shells once shrieked and burst
And took their toll of death;
The very wind, itself a foe,
Bore poison on its breath.
Above their graves the birds now sing
As round that home of yore,
When, care-free boys, they romped and played;
Those childhood days soon o’er,
The boys to brave and strong men grown,
They romped and played no more.
They put aside their childish toys,
A man’s work each must do,
And when their country called for them,
To her they answered true.
"We must protect our native land:
She shall not suffer wrong
For she has reared and nurtured us,
We’re men and we are strong.
We’ll bid good-by to those we love;
It will not be for long."
With aching hearts and tear-dimmed eyes
We watched them go away.
Some have returned but many sleep
In foreign lands to-day.
Where English roses bloom and fade,
In France where lilies grow,
Among the fields of Flanders, where
The scarlet poppies blow,
Our soldier-dead are not forgot
Though strangers come and go.