Sunday, November 11, 2018
Friday, November 11, 2016
Remembering...
Veteran's Day in the USA
(Today we say our thank-yous
...each day may we live our Thank-yous)
Easy Service by Edgar A. Guest
When an empty sleeve or a sightless eye
Or a legless form I see,
I breathe my thanks to my God on High
For His watchful care o'er me.
And I say to myself, as the cripple goes
Half stumbling on his way:
I may brag and boast, but that brother knows
Why the old flag floats to-day.
I think as I sit in my cozy den
Puffing one of my many pipes
That I've served with all of my fellow men
The glorious Stars and Stripes.
Then I see a troop in the faded blue
And a few in the dusty gray,
And I have to laugh at the deeds I do
For the flag that floats to-day.
I see men tangled in pointed wire,
The sport of the blazing sun,
Mangled and maimed by a leaden fire
As the tides of battle run,
And I fancy I hear their piteous calls
For merciful death, and then
The cannons cease and the darkness falls,
And those fluttering things are men.
Out there in the night they beg for death,
Yet the Reaper spurns their cries,
And it seems his jest to leave them breath
For their pitiful pleas and sighs.
And I am here in my cosy room
In touch with the joys of life,
I am miles away from the fields of doom
And the gory scenes of strife.
I never have vainly called for aid,
Nor suffered real pangs of thirst,
I have marched with life in its best parade
And never have seen its worst.
In the flowers of ease I have ever basked,
And I think as the Flag I see
How much of service from some it's asked,
How little of toil from me.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Because We Should Never Forget
Sunday, November 11, 2012
A Veteran's Thoughts from a Park Bench
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Remembering...
He sits on a park-bench, watching the children
Like colored balloons bobbing over the grass
He catches my eye so I sit down beside him
Suddenly hesitant of what I should ask
So I ask him formally, ‘how are you today?’
And I lean toward him as I hear him say,
“I’m thinking today of my buddy named Jim
And reminding myself again why he died
He died for that little girl there on the swing
And the curly-haired lad coming down the slide
Some days I sit and I can’t help but ponder
The heart-breaking price-tag of freedom; the pain,
But then, as I sit here watching the children
I know that my buddies did not die in vain
I come here to pray for the sons and the daughters
That somehow it seems we easily forget
Leaving their homes and their families; their comforts
Because freedom’s battle is not over yet”
Janet Martin
Remembering...
He sits on a park-bench, watching the children
Like colored balloons bobbing over the grass
He catches my eye so I sit down beside him
Suddenly hesitant of what I should ask
So I ask him formally, ‘how are you today?’
And I lean toward him as I hear him say,
“I’m thinking today of my buddy named Jim
And reminding myself again why he died
He died for that little girl there on the swing
And the curly-haired lad coming down the slide
Some days I sit and I can’t help but ponder
The heart-breaking price-tag of freedom; the pain,
But then, as I sit here watching the children
I know that my buddies did not die in vain
I come here to pray for the sons and the daughters
That somehow it seems we easily forget
Leaving their homes and their families; their comforts
Because freedom’s battle is not over yet”
Janet Martin
Monday, November 22, 2010
Somebody's Love.....
He loved his mom’s apple strudel
His eyes were kind and blue
He loved a girl named Caroline
And oh, she loved him too
They were going to be married
As soon as the war was done
And maybe if they were lucky
Someday they would have a son……….
He always loved to play football
Was the high school quarter-back
He didn’t play for a medal
He just played for the love of it
And oh, how he loved his dog, Rover
Man’s best friend was his
Now Rover whimpers every night
And wonders where he is………
He was a generous fellow
He walked the second mile
When everybody else said no
He did it with a smile
But nobody knows his attributes
As he lies in the bloody snow
They’ve come to gather the fallen dead
…..here lies another John Doe
Beneath each cross in Flanders’ Field
Beneath the sound of a gun
Beneath the weapon or the shield
Is somebody's dear son
Beneath the watchful eye above
The dying fallen lie
Oh, pray for they are somebody’s love
…….for you and yours they die
Janet~
'son' is a generic term here.......
We pray for all the sons and daughters!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Remember............
Remember; the one who fought for you
Remember; countless lives lost
Remember every soldier who
Paid for freedom’s cost
Remember those who fight today
Preserving what was won
Oh, remember when you pray
Each daughter or each son……….
Remember; freedom is never free
It comes at a great price
If there is freedom there must be
Incredible sacrifice
Remember then to cherish
The freedom of this land
For many more will perish
To preserve our freedom grand
Janet~