John McCrae: In Flanders Fields (1915)

[MORTARDUDE]

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.

Yes a poem to honor the WWI dead.

[Advisor]

RENDEA I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air--
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath--
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous

[frisco-kid]

"FOREVER 19"

So, how do you do SP/4 Thomas P. Hyde?
Do you mind if I sit here, down by your graveside,
And rest for awhile in the warm May sun?
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.

I see by your gravestone, that you were only 19
When you joined the Dead Heroes, that only God has seen.
I hope you died easy, and I hope you died clean.
Or, SP/4 Hyde, was it slow and obscene?

Did you leave a wife, or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart, is your memory enshrined?
For these many years, you haven't been seen.
But, in that faithful heart, are you forever 19?

Or are you a stranger, without even a name?
Lost in an attic forever, behind a glass frame,
In an old photograph torn, battered, and stained;
All faded to yellow, in an old wooden frame.

The sun, now it shines on this field of graves.
There's a warm May breeze; makes the poppies dance in waves.
And look how the sun shines from under the cloud.
There's no gun fire, barbed wire, or smoke that hangs like a shroud.

But, here in this graveyard that's like a no-man's land,
Your cold, stone cross stands mute in the sand.
A monument to Man's blind indifference to his Fellow Man;
To the best of a generation, who were butchered and Damned.

Now, Tommy Hyde, I can't help but wonder "Why"?
Did those in your ranks know why they were called to die?
And did they believe, when they answered the call,
That The Cause was just, and best for us all?

The sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain,
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain.
For, I'm sure you know, young Thomas P. Hyde,
That we failed to stem The Terrible Red Tide.

So, Rest In Peace in your tomb in the sand.
And may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
I'm glad we met, Tom, on this Memorial Day.
"Welcome Home, Brother, back by The Bay."

"LEST WE FORGET"


P.S. There IS NO SP/4 Thomas P. Hyde. I made him up.