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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.