WHO KNOWS? WHO WILL REMEMBER??
Red Poppies
scattered the world over
sold on Memorial Day
in Remembrance
of so...so many.
But who knows why?
Who is there that will
Remember?
Will you? And tell your children
and your grandchildren?
Red Poppies
scattered the world over
amid white crosses
pronouncing our dead...
our dead who may be forgotten.
How can we allow this;
how can we forget those
from WWI, the war to end
all wars, on through wars
in Afghanistan and Iraq?
All our Armed Forces,
men and women so courageous,
must be remembered
for their valor; they never once
forgot us back home.
Ask around you
of strangers, if need be,
"Do you know the meaning
of The Red Poppy
of Memorial Day?"
They may just stare at you,
not because you are
a stranger
but because
they do not know the answer.
And we sit and wonder...
wonder what has happened
to our country; why we have
sold our souls for
a few paltry "Sales" coins...
© Jackie (Micke) Jinks, May 2008
Thank you for such a wonderful poem!
Amen
Glad Iwas Surfing the den
Thank You Jackie
Love & Peace
William
Regis
wonderful tribute...the color of one flower...you give us to remember so many.
John
beautiful work!...ET
Blessings,
Joyce B.
Georg
The memory of WW1 and the veterans of WW2 must despair at this poisonous sore that desperately needs to be lanced before it's too late to rescue the values that our brave men and women in the military defend, and for which millions of young men died for.
We salute their esteemed memory and also their precious names.
Regards
David
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :( *SALUTE*
Much needed reminder; forget about the stupid sales!! REMEMBER OUR VETERANS FIRST!!!!
poem In Flanders Fields, written on the battlefield by Lt. Col. John McCrae (May 3, 1915). The poem reads in part:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row...
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.
Through your poem, Micke, you hold the torch high.
Gene.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Be always safe,
Karen
Jasmin Horst