Anthem for Doomed Youth
by Wilfred Owen
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Great comment on this topic. Thanks, Ken and thanks to your dad.
My father George, an eighty six year old WWII vet is proud of his service. He liberated Holland with the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry. Last year on Remembrance Day he looked at he and said, “All that marching, parading around and flag waving, it’s all a load of horse shit, [i]you do know that[/i], don’t you son?”
Long story short: I have an unexpected guest that
prevented me from posting this earlier:
To Chris and Mike and any I may miss or have forgoton
I wish to thank you all for protecting me.
Thank you to all members of the forces.
Lest We Forget…