November it is. Remembering!
Soldiers, all who kept peace for us.
Red poppies with black centres.
And deeper layers of those in past,
Others keeping order in families
like my Grandma Burger/Mack
widowed at 1917 by flu
only eighteen with two girl babes,
Röslein auf der Heiden her dear song.
Married again five children more
rugged farm subsistance
loving swearing working
glue for family faith.
Many years later eyes shrouded
by illness and diabetes
she asks of me, eighteen years old,
the meaning of her suffering.
Humbled I stammered words
about the Altar of our Faith
about being sent to do that in memory of Him.
November it is. Remembering.