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Memorial Day;
To all those who served, for all those who fell, for all those who came back broken, for all those who care.
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They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
We Will Remember Them!
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we will remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
we will remember them.
In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring,
we will remember them.
In the blueness of the sky an din the warmth of summer, we will remember them.
In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
we will remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
we will remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength,
we will remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart,
we will remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share,
we will remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live,
for they remain a part of us, as we remember them.>>
For the Fallen
Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21st September 1914.
With proud thanksgiving,
a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
The one that threw me for a loop was #9.
If 47% of Veterans served with someone who was killed in service, it is no wonder that so many suffer from PTSD.