yvr girl
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Sat Nov-11-06 09:35 AM
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By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army
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.
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cwydro
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Sat Nov-11-06 12:53 PM
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Edited on Sat Nov-11-06 12:53 PM by cwydro
by Siegfried Sassoon
If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath, I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death. You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel. Reading the Roll of Honour. 'Poor young chap,' I'd say--'I used to know his father well; Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap.' And when the war is done and youth stone dead, I'd toddle safely home and die -- in bed.
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CaliforniaPeggy
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Sat Nov-11-06 01:04 PM
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2. My dear yvr girl........ |
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Thank you for posting this poem.......
I love reading it out loud, and thinking of all our war dead.........
These days, that amounts to so much waste......so much!
But this is beautiful.
:hug:
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idgiehkt
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Sat Nov-11-06 01:20 PM
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3. thanks for posting that, I haven't read it in a long time |
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Here's one of my favorites re: war
I sing of Olaf glad and big -- e.e. cummings
i sing of Olaf glad and big whose warmest heart recoiled at war: a conscientious object-or
his wellbelovéd colonel(trig westpointer most succinctly bred) took erring Olaf soon in hand; but--though an host of overjoyed noncoms(first knocking on the head him)do through icy waters roll that helplessness which others stroke with brushes recently employed anent this muddy toiletbowl, while kindred intellects evoke allegiance per blunt instruments-- Olaf(being to all intents a corpse and wanting any rag upon what God unto him gave) responds,without getting annoyed "I will not kiss your fucking flag"
straightway the silver bird looked grave (departing hurriedly to shave)
but--though all kinds of officers (a yearning nation's blueeyed pride) their passive prey did kick and curse until for wear their clarion voices and boots were much the worse, and egged the firstclassprivates on his rectum wickedly to tease by means of skilfully applied bayonets roasted hot with heat-- Olaf(upon what were once knees) does almost ceaselessly repeat "there is some shit I will not eat"
our president,being of which assertions duly notified threw the yellowsonofabitch into a dungeon,where he died
Christ(of His mercy infinite) i pray to see; and Olaf,too
preponderatingly because unless statistics lie he was more brave than me:more blond than you.
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Fri Apr 26th 2024, 01:32 AM
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