Oh Moose...

I have made you feel betrayed

An now you are so lost

I have hurt my dear, dear friend

And lordy what a cost

But weep no more my bipedal friend

For in my house you'll find

A calendar with moose galore

To always keep in mind

I'm not much of a poetry reader myself, but a dear friend and veteran at the wbg forum wrote some moving pieces here:

Quietly! Quietly! Whisper my Name.

So many long years ago I died, under Norman apple trees.

But now my Spirit wanders, as a warm and gentle breeze.

Hush! Quietly, Whisper my name, in that long forgotten place.

Then feel the warmth of my Spirit, caress lightly on your face.

For now, I am the jeweled Summer Lark, that soars on high.

Bright in heavens concert hall, my song will fill the sky.

I am the tumbling cloud’s that rise, to touch the face of Joy.

No longer held by earthly bonds, a once young and vital boy.

In an instant life was swept away, in a brutal savage war.

Look not for me in Normandy, for I am there no more.

I am the peace in woodland glades, in veiled cascades of green.

Feel me close, in your times of joy, sensed, but never seen.

Whisper my name, and hear my voice, in cascading woodland spring,

Or England's flowered primrose banks, wherein the bluebells ring.

Don’t mourn for me, just quietly call my name, I'll visit in your dreams.

And, fill your mind with the beauty, of heavens joyous scenes.

Hush! Hush! Just whisper, quietly, call my name.

For I have sensed Gods golden light, that swept away all fear.

And heard the promise, yet unfulfilled, of heavens golden sphere.

Still closer now comes the time, when my spirit will be called.

Into the realm of the golden light, with eternal joy enthralled.

Don’t mourn for me, for I am now, far beyond your call.

Have no fear of death, the Golden light is sacred for us all.

I have seen the joy and ecstasy, the exquisite light will bring.

A moment of ecstatic peace and joy, when first you enter in.

The powerful light at last has called, for now! I cannot wait.

To Live for all eternity, in heavens Golden light estate.

Brian Guy.

February 1st 2001.

The broken Church Bells of Hermanville sur mer Church.

rang out on D. Day.

The first joyous Bells of freedom to ring out

in France since the Nazi occupation.

Freedoms Bells".

Normandy. 6th of June.

The Summer of 44

Veterans! Now that we are old and frail.

Our gift of Freedom, still prevails.

On Englands green and pleasant land

No foreign troops have laid their hand

Listen! Hear the Bells of Hermanville?

We who fought there, hear them still.

Across the years, our memories saved.

Of fine young men, who's lives they gave.

No song of lark, there, in darkened sky.

In front of Caen, we all came to die.

In high golden corn, our wounded fell.

Some burned to death, for Freedoms Bell.

Pegasus Bridge, came under fierce attack.

Our friends are dead, No! don't look back.

Listen? Is that the English Bells we hear?

From across the sea, to drown our fear?

For Mother Earth claims those that fall.

With soft Norman earth, to cover all.

For what lay ahead, fear gripped my soul.

For the guns must be paid, a human toll.

Pounded in our Norman orchard here,

While men went mad, and died in fear.

Tell me? is that the call of Freedoms Bell?

Or is it the harsh strident chimes of Hell?

On darkened, late, Mid-summers night.

With restless dreams, before dawns light.

Familiar faces gather, call my name.

"Come! for Freedoms Bell, lets fight again"

Then into battle, with troubled dreams.

Watch men die, scream, curse, blaspheme.

For we, who are old, the guns still roar.

And long forgotten, young voices call.

Searching mortars, for humans seek.

To maim and kill, and wounding's wreak.

Hear the screams of men, in mortal pain?

Are those the Bells? That dread refrain?

Now Freedoms Bells, are muted, still.

Our hopes and dreams are not fulfilled.

We, still live the years of mighty deeds.

And grieve for our fallen, our wounded bleed.

Who will ring the Bell of Freedoms song?

When we are gone? When we are gone?

Brian Guy.

Sapper.

246 Field Company R.E. Eighth Brigade.

Third British Infantry Division.

Monty’s Ironsides!

Summer days in June.

Do ghostly battles rage across

The misty fields of France

And if we listen closely now?

hear the sounds of their advance

Do the ghosts of the infantry,

in open battle order march?

Was that a man’s last despairing

scream, across the river marsh?

All at once a hot steel splinter,

Quick sudden spurts of blood

Flesh flayed down to ivory bone

Soaks the blood bespattered mud

In that quiet moment of early dawn

Was that the sound of war, now far away

Are wounded here? Waiting to be saved

But that was long ago, on a summer’s day

And yet in this quiet lonely moment

When all natures voice came still

Across the ripe swaying corn fields

The battlefields, where we came to kill.

And yet, I still hear the guns of Normandy

But that was long ago, in the distant past

The loss of friends, when we were young

Their memory forever lasts

-Brian Guy-

Les Fleurs de Normandie.

On Norman soil, they fought and died.

Now young men's graves in rows abound.

In Mother Earth's arms, now sanctified,

The fragrant flowers of our youth are found.

And yet, to rise again, as in a distant song.

Small voices that call, in dead of night.

Fleeting figures only in our dreams belong.

Alas, they fade, in dawn's bright light.

I see them yet, a sad, forgotten throng.

Shadowed, lost faces, marching on.

Over dusty roads, and high golden corn.

The call of long lost friends are borne.

We must not forget, the flowers of our days,

Lest they lay unquiet, in numbered graves.

For we lived, and loved, and life was sweet.

Still yet, for us, awaits our last retreat.

Flowers of our youth, now long since past.

Our sweet autumn days are fading fast.

We, who are left, flowered in our prime.

Enjoyed golden moments, on borrowed time.

Remember our friends, who passed this way.

For all our tomorrow's, they gave their today's,

On Utah and Omaha, Juno, Sword and Gold.

Oh! Dear Lord! See that they grow not old.

B.R.Guy. June. 1944

For we, who are old, the guns still roar.

And long forgotten, young voices call.

We, still live the years of mighty deeds.

And grieve for our fallen, our wounded bleed.

Who will ring the Bell of Freedoms song?

When we are gone? When we are gone?

Brian Guy.

Sapper! Veteran! Old Buffer!

For we, who are old, the guns still roar.

And long forgotten, young voices call.

 

We, still live the years of mighty deeds.

And grieve for our fallen, our wounded bleed.

 

Who will ring the Bell of Freedoms song?

When we are gone? When we are gone?

 

Brian Guy.

Sapper! Veteran! Old Buffer!

for we who are old,

AMEN-AMEN-AMEN--rocky

Oh Moose...

 

I have made you feel betrayed

 

An now you are so lost

 

I have hurt my dear, dear friend

 

And lordy what a cost

 

But weep no more my bipedal friend

 

For in my house you'll find

 

A calendar with moose galore

 

To always keep in mind

 

Marion,

I have dubbed thee Poet Laureate of the 6th Corp website. I wanted to write a poem for Rocky but couldnt come up with a rhyme for squirrel.....