This poem is dedicated to the Keepers in my family, Pvt. Vernon Treen, F/O Donald Nelson, P/O John Edwin Bragg, Pvt. Leonard Treen, Pvt. Leo Dowd, Sgt. Joe Harrigan and S/L Rusty Bragg.
And to family members who paid the ultimate price in war: Sgt. Beldon Treen - killed at Vimy Ridge; Lance Corporal Burton Treen - gassed at Hill 70; Pvt. Stanley Treen - killed at Amiens; and P/O Douglas W. Peers - killed in action over Germany 1944.
The Keeper
The old man stands there wizened and bent
And watchs through tears as they play the lament.
I am the keeper, he says in his mind.
I am the one he left behind.
I am the keeper of memories
When others seem to forget.
I am the one who remembers
As though he is living yet.
I see his face and remember his jokes.
I see the sadness as he speaks of the folks.
I see the fear in a best pal's eye.
I hear him hide in the dark and cry.
I see him die in the blood and the gore.
I see him fall to fight no more.
I stand at his grave in the cold smoky air.
And promise I'd always be there.
We were just young boys back then
And ready for a laugh.
Now I'm keeper who stands alone
And cries at the Cenotaph.
