By John Wiznuk, Mississauga ON
Grandchildren, now old,
as pilgrims go to sacred ground,
to honour long buried dead
at a sky-roofed cathedral;
for memory of mutilated grandfathers.
Victory was theirs;
as was quaking fear,
as shredded flesh
and disarticulated hands and knees.
What price victory at Vimy?
They paid the price.
British subjects from a far land,
with a leaf as their shield and cover.
Who stands on guard?
We’re here, our children answer.