Ypres (2008)...The Reality

The winter sun hung high and alone in the sky
giving no warmth to the earth,
it's cold emotion remit a bitter tear to ones eye
day is just another rebirth.

Eagerly people throng the cobblestoned Ypres street
lined to the gate,
from the Cloth Market a band begins a stirring beat
chatter does not abate.

I stand in a shop doorway silently with a tear in my eye
for the fallen,
the dead have no words to say, have no tears to cry
but I am beholden.

Veterans march pass proud, dignitaries as a customary duty
a once a year affair,
cadets marching out of step, unconscious of their fatuity
like the arms to bear.

Shoulder to shoulder people hustle for a 'Tommy' souvenir
a cheap remembrance
till's echo with each other, like brave volunteers 
shop owners dance.

At the eleventh hour rain fell, wind blew toward the gate
on the shallowness,
the service as ever, was righteous, is it the fallen intention's to berate?
To criticise?