April 9th., 1917
 (The Battle of Vimy Ridge) 

  
It dawned a cold and bitter day
with slicing sleet and freezing rain.
The soldiers hauling heavy packs
slipped one step back for each step gained.

Across shell-shattered No-Man’s Land
and up the slippery muddy slopes
of Vimy Ridge that Monday morn
an army manned with guns and hopes.

For three long years the Ridge had held,
a stronghold with tunnels and caves. 
Allied attempts so far had failed
until this dreary April day.

Three long weeks they’d bombed the Germans
preparing for this great campaign
—Canadians at Vimy Ridge
would try to free the Douai plain.

One hundred thousand men advanced,
behind a veil of falling shells,
all four Divisions marched at once
hiding the fear they must have felt

and by the time the sun had set
the Ridge was mostly in their hands
an Allied Victory was won
upon that shell-torn, muddy land.

But though the victory was swift
it came with a tremendous cost
ten thousand men wounded and dead
—Thirty-six hundred lives were lost.

And now upon the highest hill
there are two towers standing tall
above the cratered battlefield
with soldiers’ names carved on the wall,

Eleven thousand never found
who lost their lives in this Great War
while spread about French countryside
are graves of seven thousand more.



 
                        sept 2003 








Awarded by Poetic Constellations