Remembrance

A new ballad by Shelley Rabinovitch, paying tribute to those who have gone before:

Is there someone who still speaks your name with regret?
Are there flowers for you on this shore?
Is your name whispered soft on Remembrance Day?
I swore then he'd lie lonely no more.
Crosses on stone, tears mixed with bone.

Go. Read.

Wear a poppy until 11:00 am on 11 November, then retire it to a field of honor.

And thank your ancestors in whatever manner your heart tells you. Thank all of them. Even the ones you didn't like or those with whom you disagreed. Because without them, and what they did with their own lives -- whether they did good or bad -- you would not be here as you are now.