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Thank you for thinking of me when you put the poem here, BUT I AIN'T READY YET !!!!

OLD SOLDIERS NEVER DIE, WE JUST FADE AWAY. Rocky

Please don't think I was suggesting that it was time for Rock J! It was merely the mention of flowers on the battlefield.

The "just fade away" comment makes me think of the MacArthur Speech to West Point. Whereas I may not be a big MacArthur fan, it is probably the best military-related speech ever delivered.

Here is that last few lines:

The shadows are lengthening for me. The twilight is here. My days of old have vanished, tone and tint. They have gone glimmering through the dreams of things that were. Their memory is one of wondrous beauty, watered by tears, and coaxed and caressed by the smiles of yesterday. I listen vainly, but with thirsty ears, for the witching melody of faint bugles blowing reveille, of far drums beating the long roll. In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.

But in the evening of my memory, always I come back to West Point.

Always there echoes and re-echoes: Duty, Honor, Country.

Today marks my final roll call with you, but I want you to know that when I cross the river my last conscious thoughts will be of The Corps, and The Corps, and The Corps.

I bid you farewell.

To read the whole thing takes a while; it's a long speech, but it is well worth it.

You can read and hear it as well at the following link:

http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/d...hayeraward.html

Listening to it you can hear how old the man was when he delivered it. Perhaps it wasn't the years but the miles. . .

Merely the flowers on the battlefield is what I refered to. I read the General's speach

to West Point and to Congress. Very very touching. Question? Was Gen. relieved of

command by Harry Truman? If he was, what a hell of a way to end 52 years of

military service. The-AINT READY YET was just a little humor. Rocky

Here's a new one. This is by Thomas Hardy:

The Man He Killed

Had he and I but met

By some old ancient inn,

We should have set us down to wet

Right many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,

And staring face to face,

I shot at him as he at me,

And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--

Because he was my foe,

Just so: my foe of course he was;

That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,

Off-hand like--just as I--

Was out of work--had sold his traps--

No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!

You shoot a fellow down

You'd treat, if met where any bar is,

Or help to half a crown.

1915

Group: Members

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Joined: 14-October 07

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Member No.: 407

QUOTE(Walt @ Mar 7 2008, 09:50 PM)

GO MULES!

I love mules!!! They are by far underated.

You, you... two timer......

Group: Members

Posts: 128

Joined: 14-October 07

From: Connecticut

Member No.: 407

QUOTE(Walt @ Mar 7 2008, 09:50 PM)

GO MULES!

I love mules!!! They are by far underated.

You, you... two timer......

So many quadrapeds....so little time.

Don't worry Moose, my house is filled with stuffed Moose, pictures of Moose and a hat that looks like a moose head. Got to find something with a squirrel on it.

Oh Moose...

I have made you feel betrayed

An now you are so lost

I have hurt my dear, dear friend

And lordy what a cost

But weep no more my bipedal friend

For in my house you'll find

A calendar with moose galore

To always keep in mind

I'm not much of a poetry reader myself, but a dear friend and veteran at the wbg forum wrote some moving pieces here:

Quietly! Quietly! Whisper my Name.

So many long years ago I died, under Norman apple trees.

But now my Spirit wanders, as a warm and gentle breeze.

Hush! Quietly, Whisper my name, in that long forgotten place.

Then feel the warmth of my Spirit, caress lightly on your face.

For now, I am the jeweled Summer Lark, that soars on high.

Bright in heavens concert hall, my song will fill the sky.

I am the tumbling cloud’s that rise, to touch the face of Joy.

No longer held by earthly bonds, a once young and vital boy.

In an instant life was swept away, in a brutal savage war.

Look not for me in Normandy, for I am there no more.

I am the peace in woodland glades, in veiled cascades of green.

Feel me close, in your times of joy, sensed, but never seen.

Whisper my name, and hear my voice, in cascading woodland spring,

Or England's flowered primrose banks, wherein the bluebells ring.

Don’t mourn for me, just quietly call my name, I'll visit in your dreams.

And, fill your mind with the beauty, of heavens joyous scenes.

Hush! Hush! Just whisper, quietly, call my name.

For I have sensed Gods golden light, that swept away all fear.

And heard the promise, yet unfulfilled, of heavens golden sphere.

Still closer now comes the time, when my spirit will be called.

Into the realm of the golden light, with eternal joy enthralled.

Don’t mourn for me, for I am now, far beyond your call.

Have no fear of death, the Golden light is sacred for us all.

I have seen the joy and ecstasy, the exquisite light will bring.

A moment of ecstatic peace and joy, when first you enter in.

The powerful light at last has called, for now! I cannot wait.

To Live for all eternity, in heavens Golden light estate.

Brian Guy.

February 1st 2001.

The broken Church Bells of Hermanville sur mer Church.

rang out on D. Day.

The first joyous Bells of freedom to ring out

in France since the Nazi occupation.

Freedoms Bells".

Normandy. 6th of June.

The Summer of 44

Veterans! Now that we are old and frail.

Our gift of Freedom, still prevails.

On Englands green and pleasant land

No foreign troops have laid their hand

Listen! Hear the Bells of Hermanville?

We who fought there, hear them still.

Across the years, our memories saved.

Of fine young men, who's lives they gave.

No song of lark, there, in darkened sky.

In front of Caen, we all came to die.

In high golden corn, our wounded fell.

Some burned to death, for Freedoms Bell.

Pegasus Bridge, came under fierce attack.

Our friends are dead, No! don't look back.

Listen? Is that the English Bells we hear?

From across the sea, to drown our fear?

For Mother Earth claims those that fall.

With soft Norman earth, to cover all.

For what lay ahead, fear gripped my soul.

For the guns must be paid, a human toll.

Pounded in our Norman orchard here,

While men went mad, and died in fear.

Tell me? is that the call of Freedoms Bell?

Or is it the harsh strident chimes of Hell?

On darkened, late, Mid-summers night.

With restless dreams, before dawns light.

Familiar faces gather, call my name.

"Come! for Freedoms Bell, lets fight again"

Then into battle, with troubled dreams.

Watch men die, scream, curse, blaspheme.

For we, who are old, the guns still roar.

And long forgotten, young voices call.

Searching mortars, for humans seek.

To maim and kill, and wounding's wreak.

Hear the screams of men, in mortal pain?

Are those the Bells? That dread refrain?

Now Freedoms Bells, are muted, still.

Our hopes and dreams are not fulfilled.

We, still live the years of mighty deeds.

And grieve for our fallen, our wounded bleed.

Who will ring the Bell of Freedoms song?

When we are gone? When we are gone?

Brian Guy.

Sapper.

246 Field Company R.E. Eighth Brigade.

Third British Infantry Division.

Monty’s Ironsides!

Summer days in June.

Do ghostly battles rage across

The misty fields of France

And if we listen closely now?

hear the sounds of their advance

Do the ghosts of the infantry,

in open battle order march?

Was that a man’s last despairing

scream, across the river marsh?

All at once a hot steel splinter,

Quick sudden spurts of blood

Flesh flayed down to ivory bone

Soaks the blood bespattered mud

In that quiet moment of early dawn

Was that the sound of war, now far away

Are wounded here? Waiting to be saved

But that was long ago, on a summer’s day

And yet in this quiet lonely moment

When all natures voice came still

Across the ripe swaying corn fields

The battlefields, where we came to kill.

And yet, I still hear the guns of Normandy

But that was long ago, in the distant past

The loss of friends, when we were young

Their memory forever lasts

-Brian Guy-

Les Fleurs de Normandie.

On Norman soil, they fought and died.

Now young men's graves in rows abound.

In Mother Earth's arms, now sanctified,

The fragrant flowers of our youth are found.

And yet, to rise again, as in a distant song.

Small voices that call, in dead of night.

Fleeting figures only in our dreams belong.

Alas, they fade, in dawn's bright light.

I see them yet, a sad, forgotten throng.

Shadowed, lost faces, marching on.

Over dusty roads, and high golden corn.

The call of long lost friends are borne.

We must not forget, the flowers of our days,

Lest they lay unquiet, in numbered graves.

For we lived, and loved, and life was sweet.

Still yet, for us, awaits our last retreat.

Flowers of our youth, now long since past.

Our sweet autumn days are fading fast.

We, who are left, flowered in our prime.

Enjoyed golden moments, on borrowed time.

Remember our friends, who passed this way.

For all our tomorrow's, they gave their today's,

On Utah and Omaha, Juno, Sword and Gold.

Oh! Dear Lord! See that they grow not old.

B.R.Guy. June. 1944