South Wind
 

Where are the flowers, those fair young flowers, that once sprang and stood;
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous brotherhood.
Alas, they are in their graves, that gentle race of flowers;
Lying in their lowly beds, the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie,but the cold winter’s rain;
Calls not from out of the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
When fell the frost out of the North, carried in the hearts of men;
The brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade and glen.
The South Wind seeks the flowers, whose essence once she bore;
And sighs to find them in the world no more.
I weep that ones so glorious should have a life so brief,
For the beauty that might have been I requiem my grief.

~Lee  R Franklin ~
 
 

Southern Cross

See her shudder in the twilight breeze,
That old flag one seldom sees.
When home was in the heart she flew proud and brave,
Now, only in memory of men in their graves.
All memory of Her glory gone,
In only a few hearts the flame burns on.
Once a symbol of honour and glory,
Today the memory is no longer hallow.
A day of memory once did we claim,
To honour the struggle, to honour the name.
Seldom observed for fear of derision,
Total defeat, total submission.
In the hills and vales where brave soldiers tread,
Sleep now only the ranks of the dead.
To those with battle blood gory,
We give no robings of glory.
With love and honour their stand was made,
With purest heart the great price paid.
Grand Sires with silver locks and boys still children,
No beasts from Hell, no black hearted villains.
Mortal men like us - of flesh and blood,
Men who lived - men who loved.
Side by side they stood, they fought, they died;
Defending freedom with honour and pride.
What tribute is paid those noble souls?
“Reject them as evil” we are told.
“They deserve no peace, no rest of honoured dead”,
“Award no laurels for your hero’s heads”.
Unjust shame for the price they paid,
That home and freedom might be saved.
War saw many days upon the field,
In every home the cost to feel.
The Horsemen Four rode with canon's thunder,
‘Till all who stood was trod asunder.
Hard they rode upon the land,
Countless graves in witness stand.
The people gave all and when it was gone,
They suffered together - together as one.
Proud we were - and should be today.
Proud of those who wore the gray.
The flame burns on in the hearts of some,
Who remember the past and honour won.
The nation’s honour they made our due,
Pride in their pattern of red, white and blue.
Hearts cold as stone are turned our way,
“Let every trace be cleared” they are heard to say.
Late comers all, who love not this land,
No roots, no graves, just shifting sand.
The best interest of the people they claim to show,
The best interest of a people they don’t even know.
The best interest of themselves is what I see,
To break the bond between you and me.
The bond of blood mixed on many field,
The bond of pride - our right to feel.
The bond of place - this blessed earth,
The bond of honour - the bond of worth.
I cherish the pride made our due,
Pride in our own red, white and blue.
If only to ourselves we would be true,
A heritage of pride would come shining through.
~Lee R Franklin ~