of the high night — out of cold darkness
Out of the hands of friendship, hot death rained —
Thanatos ruled the roost in hard–rock land.
Fat–finned the fireball whistled darkly down
Shrapnel shattered young soldiers of the Crown.
Those lads were laid on altars of the night —
Slain as an offering to War’s hot flames —
And they in Afghan land to find some way
To bring about fond peace some future day.
But from the hands of unsure men came death
Out of the dark pall of a high night sky
Sailed down an egg of hell to end their lives.
We will imagine things they may have done.
We will imagine things they could achieve
Now they have left on Embarkation Leave. . . .
Sergeant Marc Légèr 29 Lancaster
Corporal Ainsworth Dyer 25 Montreal/Toronto
Private Richard Green 22 Mills Cove N.S.
Private Nathan Smith 27 Tatamagouche NS
Bill Meilen Nov 11 2003