Bicycle Diaries: On the 11th hour...

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On the 11th hour...

of the 11th day
of the 11th month,
89 years ago,
World War I or

the Great War or
the '14-'18 War;
the War to
End All Wars,

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
12 November UPDATE

Paul Tibbets
1915 - 2007
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Randall Jarrell

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Blogger Fat Lad said...

We will remember them.

11/11/07 15:00  

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