Remembering – Neil Meili

In Flanders fields the poppies grow
and around the world as well

as red as blood and love

I have my stories you have yours
Let us bow and salute them now

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Image by Tim Hill from Pixabay

I have eaten the beef
that ate the grass
that grew on your unmarked graves

And the sadness I sing, I sing for you
for all sadness is one sadness
all pain one pain
and all treachery one treachery

Many have eaten of the buffalo and the beef
They wake in the night
and do not know why they are sad

OLD WIVES LAKE MASSACRE – THE LEGEND
About a hundred and fifty or two hundred years ago, in what is now south west Saskatchewan, a band of Cree camping on the shore of a prairie lake were surrounded by a much larger band of Blackfoot warriors.
In order to save the lives of the young and strong, they slipped out under cover of darkness while the old and infirm stayed behind to keep the fires burning and keep up the appearance of an occupied camp.
When the Blackfoot attacked the next morning they were furious at having been tricked in this way and massacred all of the remaining inhabitants of the camp including all the old wives.
This unusual and powerful occurrence is remembered to this day in the name of the lake.
I grew up and ranched along its shores.