November 1918 - by Robert S Kearney
This poem was first performed at our "Don't Forget Me Cobber" Fundraising Lunch last week.
Now that peace has been declared and we’ve marked, war’s ending
‘tis time for praise and thanks and to begin the work of mending.
The broken men and women who have, --- or soon will return,
like we at home who lost someone dear---have so much to relearn.
We remember those who gave their all and those who gave so much
silent rooms, an empty chair, in the hallway stands a crutch
drawn blinds, old school books and a broken bat with ball
and a sad old dog, like a sentry, awaits his master’s call.
The years of war have taken much and our losses sadly vast
but we must press on and live our lives in each new day—and not the past.
Sad it was, and sad it is, sad it will forever be
scarred we are, but still unbroken with a future living free.
Remember,--but dwell not on our loss, or the sacrifices made
Take up your books, a needle, plough, or the tools of your old trade,
we must press on to show our thanks -- and begin repatriation,
‘tis time to heal, time to work, and advance our great young nation.
© Robert S Kearney 2019
