Betty Chabot Canadian Poet

It seems to me but yesteryear
I watched him fly a kite, so high
It cleared the trees, to soar into
A sky of blue-, its course so true
I marveled at the deep infinity.
Tho’ swiftly pass the years, they scarcely touch
The heart of youth. I little saw him grow
He was so close to me-, until
One day he seemed so straight and tall;
I knew that in a not far distant day
He, too, would feel his wings: my little son
With corn gold hair and eyes that laughed
With mischief in their deep blue depths.
He smiled at me the day he left;
He held me close and kissed my misted eyes.
He seemed again a little boy
Who watched a kite fly high into the skies:
And still again that little one
Whose pride and joy was in a plane:
The symbol of a day to come-,
This little one who came to me to bind
A cut and bleeding knee-, or kiss a hurt-,
Or search, a missing toy to find.
If now I shed a tear sometimes, I know
He will not mind, for deep within my heart
I know he went, as he would gladly go
Across the waste of far-flung skies.
I know he felt the breath of God, and heard
His voice those many times he flew
Into the silence of the blue,
Scarred deeply with the flare of man-made might,
With roar and belch of guns, and burst of flame.
And even there
Amid the death of war, I know God came
To fill each soul with hope and light;
The while each moment he could feel
The passing wings of death upon its flight.

His body lies on distant soil,
Perhaps unmarked, in land unknown to me.
But all the memories of that little boy
Are mine, to have, to hold, to see.
For still he lives within my heart;
Perhaps you, who know, may wonder why
My step is light, my smile is bright,
Tho’ he is gone, yet I am glad of eye.
He died for you, and you and me,
But he lives on in every tiny thing
I see, that brings him close to me.
In those young, stalwart sons of ours
We see each day upon their way,
Who went to live, and fight, and die,
To live again for Victory.

– Circa 1947

His life was young; his years too few;
And yet his eyes saw much of age
As in a war-filled year or two,
He wrote his name on history’s page.

But still for those who loved him most
He would have gone no other way;
As in his life he held his post
And gave that life in battle’s fray.

He needs no funeral march of friends
Unto his one last resting place,
His requiem be – he gave his life
For freedom’s sake to all his race.

He needs no other winding sheet
Than that same earth which saw him fall;
Whilst high above the stars shall guard
His resting place like candles tall.

When the deep nights that are now filled
With rumble of the battle gun;
Are once more silent, hushed and stilled
In peace will sleep each soldier son.

His loved ones’ eyes are filled with tears,
Their hearts beat fast and slow with pain,
They know that down the reach of years
His voice will never sound again.

He rests and by his side there sleep
Those soldier pals who with him died.
The clouds of heaven look down and weep
For all those soldiers crucified.

The hands of God shall touch the earth
To bring you peace in passing by.
His breath shall waken flowers to birth
When stilled will be the battle cry.

And he, who gave his life for you
And you and you and me,
Will live again in all we do;
In all we ever hoped he’d be.

O loved ones who have most to bear,
His torch is handed on to you,
For well he knew that in your care
Its flame would burn forever true.

Although his earthly body lies
In distant land, beyond the sea,
In memory, his life shall rise
Before you, always young and free.

He still lives on; he cannot die
Your cherished, gallant soldier son.
He heard the fatal, battle cry
And knew it meant, “God’s will be done.”

He sees, and seeing knows that you
Who comfort find in memory
Will know, that all our soldier boys
Like him, “still liveth yet in me.”

– 1945 (on hearing word of Sgt. Elliott’s death)