Once each year the people pause
To remember those who died for a cause;

We honour them with poppy and wreath
But seldom consider what lay beneath.
What reason was it that would suffice
To justify such a sacrifice?
What persuaded them to leave their home
To die in France, Antwerp, or Rome?

Why would they, in the prime of life,
Leave those they loved and enter the strife?

They went for you, they went for me;
They felt ‘twas their duty to keep all men free.
To keep us from under the tyrant’s power,
To be sure that we need never cower
‘Neath the brutal lash of racial hate
Because our fathers just did not rate
As members of the “superior” race
Since they hadn’t the proper kind of face.

They went, they suffered, bled, and died,
To be sure that we could know the pride
That comes in seeing each man on earth
As a creature of dignity and worth.

They died for all men, everywhere.
They saw not the colour of eyes, skin, or hair.

You and I—if we be true
Must take great care in what we do.
We must avoid the harsh, cruel slur
That names a man little more than a cur
To be shunned and neglected,
To be teased, mocked and rejected,
Simply because he chanced to be born
In some home where strange customs are worn.

We must recall that every man
Is important in the Creator’s great plan;
Take no regard for a man’s colour or race
For were our skin different, we might be in his place.

For this they died, that all might be equal.
If this we forget, there may be a sequel.