The Long Shadow

The wind howls through the pines, a mournful sound, A symphony of loss, where peace is not found. The hills, once green, now bear a somber hue, A legacy of war, forever stained and true. From shores of emerald, where the kiwi did roam, Young men departed, far away from home. To fields of Flanders, and the sands of Crete, They marched with courage, a defiant beat. The mothers wept, their hearts with sorrow torn, As sons embraced, a promise faintly born, To fight for freedom, for honor and for right, And face the shadows of the coming night. The letters flowed, a lifeline thin and frail, Of distant battles, and a chilling tale. Of comrades fallen, and the price of war, A heavy burden, they could no longer ignore. The telegram arrived, a message stark and grim, Shattering silence, extinguishing all whim. A son, a brother, lost beyond recall, A vacant chair, a portrait on the wall. The silence deepened, a haunting, hollow sound, As grief consumed, and hope could not be found. The fields of poppies, a crimson, somber sight, A constant reminder of the fallen in the night. But from the ashes, a spirit did arise, A fierce resolve, reflected in their eyes. To rebuild, to heal, to cherish every day, And honor those who paid the ultimate way. The veterans returned, their spirits scarred and deep, Haunted by memories, secrets they would keep. The weight of war, a burden hard to bear, A silent struggle, a constant, gnawing care. Yet, from their sacrifice, a nation did endure, A testament to courage, forever pure. A legacy of strength, a bond unbreakable, A story etched in time, a tale unforgettable. The years have passed, the war a fading gleam, But echoes linger, a haunting, mournful theme. The wind still whispers, through the pines so tall, Of those who answered duty's fateful call. And in the quiet moments, when the day is done, We hear the echoes, of battles bravely won. The sacrifices made, the tears that freely fell, A debt of gratitude, a story we must tell.