The Passing Parade: Cheap Shots from a Drive By Mind

"...difficile est saturam non scribere. Nam quis iniquae tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se..." " is hard not to write Satire. For who is so tolerant of the unjust City, so steeled, that he can restrain himself... Juvenal, The Satires (1.30-32)

Thursday, November 11, 2010

"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."

Again, for my grandfather, Thomas, Sergeant, 1st Battalion, The Royal Irish Regiment (18th of Foot), who served 1914-1918 in France, Flanders, Egypt, and Salonika, and for his brother Joseph, Serjeant, 2nd Battalion, The Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, who fell on 28 September 1918 and who lies buried still in Flanders Fields,

"Some returned from the fields of gory,
To their loved ones who held them dear.
But some fell in that hour of glory,
And were left to their resting there."

"March no more, my soldier laddie,
There is peace where there once was war.
Sleep in peace my soldier laddie,
Sleep in peace, now the battle's o'er."

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