Where the poppies grow

May 26, 2008

Where the poppies grow

Current mood:thankful

Today, admist the mountains of hamburgers and hotdogs. While you dig your summer clothes out of storage. And, the kids who now have a day off from school. And seemly most adults, who now take in this day off, that someone has decided that we get. Try and remember the real purpose of this day.

We honor, and remember the hundreds of thousands of men and women that this day is for. Those who have paid the price, so that you can bask in this now seemingly pointless day.

Men and women who stood in the cold, wet, heat, and unimaginable conditions, so that you could spend this day with your family. Families that they, in most cases, will not get that chance to see themselves.

Somewhere. Someplace. Someone is watching out for you. Standing guard for the very freedoms and the rights that you take for granted.

When you see that flag, that your neighbor has placed on his porch, pause to look closely at it. It may be bright and unblemished now. But others before it, show the tears, and damage, that was inflicted upon it, by those who meant to do us harm. At the end of the day, that flag still stands. It still is there. Despite all efforts to lower it. And, that battle, to protect that flag, and what it means to some of us, is waged every day, by those nameless people, who give their all, to protect it.

Remember those who have passed. Honor those who are still with us. It is a small thing to ask, for such a great thing, they have done for all of us.
http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/
http://www.arlingtoncemetery.org/

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses 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.