MIKE

The perceptible traces of hallowed words,
That bleed from your vibrant pen,
Describe the razor edge of swords
That portray our fighting men.

'Mid this, a tenderness there in bloom
Makes haste to secure a pride
That clears away our bitter gloom
For the soldiers who have died.

For in your words they all still live;
Each one you immortalise.
As with each word you fondly give
Loves solace for their cries.

For this we love you, gracious friend.
On your words we all rely
For all those wonderments you send
That won't let our memories die.