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A Poem for Memorial Day

A Connecticut 12-year old, Jack Kaiser, wrote this. Have you written a Memorial Day poem? Please add it!

Remembrance
As we gaze across the rows of crosses,
We think of the young lives and all of their losses.
To never see the sun rise once more,
Their hearts are like a closed door.
The flags were raised.
And the bugles played.
The ever stillness,
Of the families that are motionless.
The gratitude of a nation.
Gives such a sensation,
Everyone with nothing to say,
On Memorial Day

This poem was written by Jack Kaiser, 12. He's in the seventh grade at the Haddam-Killingworth Middle School in Killingworth, CT.

Jack's class had an assignment to write a poem about the meaning of Memorial Day, and he developed the poem on his own without any help from anyone.

Jack said he knows that his grandfather, Don Kaiser of Clinton, is a veteran and was an officer in the U.S. Marine Corps in the 1960s.  

He said he asked a few people why they thought Memorial Day was celebrated and what it represented. He was also a little puzzled at "what does one say" to others on this day. He felt that most people don't say anything because they just don't know what to say unless their family or friends lost someone in a war.

For veterans, Jack felt that one could say "thank you" for serving our country in the service.

For those who gave their lives, we can only say a silent prayer, knowing that we have freedom because of them.

Have you written a Memorial Day poem? Please upload it in the comment box!

Jennifer Fuentes May 24, 2012 at 05:34 PM
Well done, young Mr. Kaiser... And Thank you.... Jennifer Fuentes SSgt USAF Veteran
Mark T. Kalinowski May 25, 2012 at 02:38 PM
The poem I offer is part of my bi-weekly blog and will be posted today. Hope you like it. Thank you again.
Leslie Silton May 27, 2012 at 05:39 PM
Memorial Day 2012 by Leslie Silton I remember when there were still a few World War I vets living in my home town. I always bought a plastic poppy from one of them and wore it all day, and the next, and then at some point it ended up on my night table and finally the cleaning lady wiped it into the waste basket as she dusted. I didn’t exactly understand the act of war. I just remember the affinity of emotion I felt for those grizzled, bent, lumpy old men selling their plastic poppies. I felt it deeply. To my core. I know their sacrifice has not been in vain. It has not been for nothing. The world is still here. I am here. And we among the living thank you and salute you.

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