He is the one that led the way
so the general could make it home;
She is the one who saved the child
and was left to die alone.

His dreams were cut off
by his untimely death;
Her innocence shattered
by her last shallow breath.

He is the voice
that echoes our pride;
She is the eyes, that
for our freedom, cried.

He is the rain
that waters our soul;
She is the river
holding secrets untold.

He's in the wave
crashing Normandy's shore;
She's on the wind
over Dieppe once more.

He's in the song
that Passchendaele sang;
She's in the bell
from which freedom rang.

His death was a pledge
prayers cannot suffice;
Her life, a gift,
At the ultimate price.

Leah McDonald
Elrose, Saskatchewan