Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Remembrance Day

In the morning the war planes were overhead. They are still up there in the afternoon. Old war planes discerned by the well-tuned throbbing of engines in the grey overcast, heavy and purring, zealous and knocking. Old engines built with forthrightness of intent; no computerized complexity at the helm, nothing that turns invisible under radar. Planes upfront and open like the solid, oiled barrel of a gun.

The reverberations reach to the suburban asphalt and fiberglass vehicles.


In Flanders Fields
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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