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Abstract

a big medal and a write-up in his local newspaper. He would not show me the medal nor talk of the event.</p><h1 id="bd44">Memorial Day by Joyce Kilmer</h1><div id="e318"><pre><span class="hljs-string">"Dulce et decorum est"</span></pre></div><div id="350d"><pre>The bugle echoes shrill <span class="hljs-keyword">and</span> sweet, But <span class="hljs-keyword">not</span> <span class="hljs-keyword">of</span> war <span class="hljs-keyword">it</span> sings <span class="hljs-keyword">to</span>-<span class="hljs-built_in">day</span>. The road <span class="hljs-keyword">is</span> rhythmic <span class="hljs-keyword">with</span> <span class="hljs-keyword">the</span> feet Of men-<span class="hljs-keyword">at</span>-arms who come <span class="hljs-keyword">to</span> pray.</pre></div><div id="2de7"><pre> The roses <span class="hljs-keyword">blossom </span>white <span class="hljs-keyword">and </span>red On tombs where weary soldiers lie; Flags wave above the honored dead <span class="hljs-keyword">And </span>martial music cleaves the sky.</pre></div><div id="c12e"><pre> Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel, They kept the faith <span class="hljs-keyword">and</span> fought the fight. Through flying lead <span class="hljs-keyword">and</span> crimson steel They plunged for Freedom <span class="hljs-keyword">and</span> the Right.</pre></div><div id="3f91"><pre> May we, their grateful children, learn Their strength, who lie <span class="hljs-keyword">beneath</span> thi

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s sod, Who went <span class="hljs-keyword">through</span> fire <span class="hljs-keyword">and</span> death <span class="hljs-keyword">to</span> earn At <span class="hljs-keyword">last</span> <span class="hljs-keyword">the</span> accolade <span class="hljs-keyword">of</span> God.</pre></div><div id="b24a"><pre> In shining <span class="hljs-built_in">rank</span> on <span class="hljs-built_in">rank</span> arrayed They march, the legions of the Lord; He <span class="hljs-built_in">is</span> their Captain unafraid, The Prince of Peace . . . Who brought a sword.</pre></div><h1 id="b4da">TREES AND OTHER POEMS</h1><h2 id="2d1e">by Joyce Kilmer</h2><h2 id="1863">[Alfred Joyce Kilmer, American (New Jersey & New York) Poet — 1886–1918.]</h2><h2 id="9658">Public Domain</h2><figure id="3d60"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*azLdyJQmn18zp8Xm3se8VA.png"><figcaption>other writing</figcaption></figure><div id="7b10" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/a-readers-guide-to-my-writing-3c06cfb8c420"> <div> <div> <h2>A Readers Guide to My Writing</h2> <div><h3>Library card not needed</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*5S9jPo-ZcG1UTYXt2BiLxw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Memorial Day

In Remembrance of those who sacrificed

They served so that we may know our freedom

Dad, Battle of the Coral Sea WWII (Purple Heart)

Uncle Woody, various South Pacific campaigns WWII (Purple Heart)

Uncle Kip, Omaha Beach, D-Day WWII (Medal of Valor)

When I was a boy and at that playing Army age. My rifle was a stick and a clump of dirt a grenade.

A friend painted a red Swastika on his helmet because he thought it looked cool.

His dad got a rag and turpentine and in tears removed the double Zs.

The symbol was erased the memories no.

19-year-old, Uncle Kip would not share what happened on that cloudy, bloody, stretch of Normandy beach on June 6, 1944.

Omaha Beach on D-Day.

2,400 of his friends were killed, wounded, or missing.

All I know is Uncle Kip got a big medal and a write-up in his local newspaper. He would not show me the medal nor talk of the event.

Memorial Day by Joyce Kilmer

"Dulce et decorum est"

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
      But not of war it sings to-day.
     The road is rhythmic with the feet
      Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

     The roses blossom white and red
      On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
     Flags wave above the honored dead
      And martial music cleaves the sky.

     Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
      They kept the faith and fought the fight.
     Through flying lead and crimson steel
      They plunged for Freedom and the Right.

     May we, their grateful children, learn
      Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
     Who went through fire and death to earn
      At last the accolade of God.

     In shining rank on rank arrayed
      They march, the legions of the Lord;
     He is their Captain unafraid,
      The Prince of Peace . . . Who brought a sword.

TREES AND OTHER POEMS

by Joyce Kilmer

[Alfred Joyce Kilmer, American (New Jersey & New York) Poet — 1886–1918.]

Public Domain

A Readers Guide to My Writing

Library card not needed

medium.com