Oh young were we not so long ago, born to my mountains and rivers,
The world went wild and the call went out, there were but no forgivers.
Hell started afar in that year of 14, and went on four more years,
Buried my children in foreign lands, without your mother’s tears.
Never again did I think I would send you overseas to fight,
But once again in 39 some men thought something’s not right.
Again I called boys and girls, men and women to which you all came,
Thought of adventure, travel and fame but this hell was not a game.
Once again I found my children buried in a foreign land and named,
To the cross posted the unknown soldier was no claim to fame.
And the children that came home safe from those crimson battlegrounds,
Now felt cheated for they have left many brothers dead and unfound.
Again in 50 I call for your sacrifice, love, honour, country, guts,
My children all came forward answering with no ifs, ands or buts.
Proud of my children who have made me who I am today,
When people speak of Canadians it is in this very proud way.
Then again off you went to fight that of another man’s conflict,
To Nam you went, thousands strong, this fight carried no script.
Yet your bravery, guts and honour, you showed the way,
Why my children are brave and free, it’s for that you would die.
And yet today and in these times and new foreign places,
My children are again filling a role and aiding other races.
Still the sadness of even one Mother’s son not coming home to stay,
Makes me proud and thankful for each and every passing day.
There were battles and fights to which no others could do,
Call in the Canadians, a call that has held up so true.
Proud I am of all the people who keep me safe at night,
It is difficult to say thanks knowing none of it was right.
My young sons dying from mud filled wounds, cannon blasts and gas,
Alone in the dark, smells of horror, sounds of fear, never came to pass.
I could not be there to hold you in my arms while you anguished in pain,
I can only tell you my children that your sacrifice was not in vain.
I fear that as my children of these wars who slowly have passed on,
That my younger children would mock your stories, laugh and yawn.
But I find them showing up on Remembrance Day,
To give their thanks to each of you in their new way.
Forgotten you are not, forgotten will never be spoken this day,
Your stories forever told, admired and honoured will stay.
Remembrance Day is not enough to give thanks to every last one of you,
But as your country, I will whisper your name and say, “I loved you too.”
Your Mother, Canada
Harry Pelter
Cowichan