Memorial Day

My father buys paper poppies every year.  He’s remembering his brother and the men he served with in WWII.  Growing up, his brother Albert played the taps echo during the Memorial Day celebrations for those lost in WWI.  After WWII ended, taps were played to remember him.  The boat Albert was on was sunk by a torpedo and his body never found.  All we have left is a ceramic cigarette box he brought back for my grandmother on his last leave home and memories locked up in my Dad’s heart.  Now and then a memory escapes and we are all reminded of the enormity of the loss.

In memory of Albert and all those lost in war I thought I would post the poem my Dad always recites.  Reading it really isn’t the same as hearing him deliver it.  The love for his country and love for his brother dance bittersweet in the tone of his voice.

In Flanders Fields

By John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row by row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard among 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 yea break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

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1 Response to Memorial Day

  1. PushDumpFatButton says:

    Reblogged this on Push Dump Fat Button.

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