In Klendathu Fields
(Apologies to John McCrae, no apologies to Robert Heinlein)
In Klendathu fields the dust mites teem
Between the scorch marks, beam by beam
That mark our fight, and down below
Their corpses writhe from blow after blow
Drowned out by our victors screams
We mourn our dead, mere moments past
Who covered us well, with laser blasts
Dutiful and duty done, now they rest
In Klendathu fields
Continue on our citizen’s quest
Taking up their fallen tools
The task, be ours to do it best
To honor those unlucky fools
If we fall short of those who passed
Other citizens will complete the task
In Klendathu fields
John McCrae’s original is below, and far worthier for this occasion than my riff above.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.