As Poppies Sway

 

crinkled poppy.jpg

Descended from an ancient breed, she stands on guard with all her friends;

The sun and soil and rain she needs, she gathers as she gently bends

To rhythms only she can hear – the subtle throb of memories

As November days draw near; with every raw and lonesome breeze

She mourns anew in Flanders Fields. Hers the task to mark the place

Where courage bled; the past revealed that hatred has an ugly face;

Here she blooms beneath the sky, and dreams as stars bestow their rays,

That Peace will last for you and I, and Love take root as poppies sway.

The Call of the Wild

geese in flight

The call of the wild came at tender age,

at the knee of his papa, who heard it well;

the cries of the geese over rolling sage,

the echoes of songbirds in dale and dell.

It followed the whispers of aspen’s songs,

rumbled in dens where new cubs were weaned;

sang from the meadows, midst grazing fawns,

rattled where antlered heads splashed in the streams.

It stirred in his soul, and called him outdoors,

called him to join in creation’s hum;

he put on his vest, and joined with the corps

who swore to protect what God had begun.

Now, at the very last call of the day,

its music sounds foreign to grieving ears;

but true to its trumpet, his heart must obey

the call of the wild, as we shower him with tears.

*

In memory of Justin Knackstedt, 23, who died in a tragic accident while on duty as a Conservation Officer, the job he so loved.