Good morning,
I can only imagine the horrors of war; or the tenseness that lingers just beyond the consciousness of all who serve and know that they could be summoned to war. I cannot imagine the fear of the spouse, the parent, the child left at home. I can only wonder, and hold close those around me whom I love.
Regardless of one's politics, regardless of one's beliefs about violence, regardless of one's proclivities along the broad spectrum of international policy -- the truth still stands: Those who serve in our armed forces do so at peril to themselves and to their own daily existence. Those who watch their spouse, their child, their father or mother leave for such service do so at great sacrifice to the way of life that they have known.
There are no more fitting words for today than these, and so, to all of you, with my thanks, I commend them:
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.
--- John McCrae (1872 - 1918)
--
Mugwumpishly tendered:
M. Corinne Corley
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The Missouri Mugwump™
- M. Corinne Corley
- I've been many things in my life: A child, a daughter, a friend; a wife, a mother, a lawyer and a pet-owner. I've given my best to many things and my worst to a few. I live in Brookside, in an airplane bungalow. I'm an eternal optimist and a sometime-poet. If I ever got a poem published in The New Yorker, I would die a happy woman. I'm a proud supporter of the Arts in Kansas City. I vote Democrat, fly the American flag, cry at Hallmark commercials, and recycle.
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