The Three Thousand

We start and walk three thousand strong We walk from a town in the north of France Where the only sounds are rain drops running down on our jackets and shoes hitting the pavement like the force of a small thunder storm. We stop for a moment, just to observe the sea of red and white moving up the ridge. We reach the top and pause to read, remember, and promise not to forget. We stand over fields that have seen much and the scars have not healed. We the three thousand stand where they, the fallen once did, knowing it was not in vein. We the three thousand have stood and walked in the cold and rain. On this day in Vimy Ridge, we the three thousand strong, stop and say thank you.