By Douglas Sinclair, Toronto
There is a madness among men, lurking
Behind this resurrection of grief for the dead
Of too many wars whose shortened lives
Have been forgotten except by those who remember
And who remember well who have lived
Through the pomp and circumstance of nations
To prick a national conscience to remember.
How do you reward the dead?
How do you thank the living?
The list of the dead and their survivors
Is endless and pointless if the day after
We remember, we forget and forget completely
That the natural consequence of war is death
And the death of one is the death of all.