Poor little Snowdrops

Where are my snowdrops now.

Where are they now, my snowdrops where are they now, hidden and covered over like an illicit vow.

The  ground is frozen and rock hard , now they have been flattened by snow and their chances been marred.

These little flowers  are like my hopes and my dreams they are on on stony ground and endangered it seems.

Nature is reflecting life at this moment in time you just think things are improving  and all is going just fine. The sap is rising and the buds were all out then along came the snow and smothered them all and now once again the future is in doubt.

Poor little snowdrops

 

Journal For Poetry Challenge#7 05,02,2012

FOR THE FALLEN by Laurence Binyon

Laurence Binyon

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.

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Laurence Binyon was born in Lancaster 10th August  1869.

On 21st September 1914 THE TIMES news paper published his poem THE FALLEN about the out break of war. The poem was later to adorn war memorials throughout Britain. Binyon wrote the poem while working at the British Museum and did not go to the the western front until 1916, as a red cross orderly.

He survived the war and went on to work and be honoured at the British Museum and Harvard . he died in 1943 in Reading.

################################################################

I want to introduce the white poppy here. hence the top boarder. I want the empathize that Laurence Binyon has absolutely nothing to do with the white poppy.

WHITE POPPIES ARE FOR PEACE
The idea of decoupling Armistice Day , the red poppy and later Remembrance Day from their military culture dates back to 1926, just a few years after the British Legion was persuaded to try using the red poppy as a fundraising tool in Britain.

A member of the No More War Movement suggested that the British Legion should be asked to imprint ‘No More War’ in the centre of the red poppies instead of ‘Haig Fund’ and failing this pacifists should make their own flowers.

The details of any discussion with the British Legion are unknown but as the centre of the red poppy displayed the ‘Haig Fund’ imprint until 1994 it was clearly not successful. A few years later the idea was again discussed by the Co-operative Women’s Guild who in 1933 produced the first white poppies to be worn on Armistice Day (later called Remembrance Day). The Guild stressed that the white poppy was not intended as an insult to those who died in the First World War – a war in which many of the women lost husbands, brothers, sons and lovers – but a challenge to the continuing drive to war. The following year the newly founded Peace Pledge Union joined the CWG in the distribution of the poppies and later took over their annual promotion.

###############################################################

This poem speaks for itself but it does have the wonderful lines that sum all war up!

A War To End All War

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.

That is the idea, but we do not really remember do we. We are still fighting wars. The mothers still grieve “Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.” Sweethearts,wives ,children brothers sisters are still lost to us .

Young men and women still die in lands “Beyond England’s Foam” to be PC, Britain’s Foam.  So many do not come home to meet with their friends, sit at their families tables.The only difference is that now the dead are flown home and each one has his or her posthumous 15minutes of fame but at what a cost? Nothing has changed we have forgot . The men and women who died on the WW1 and WW2 where not brought home they were buried in the countries where they fell.

This poem expresses they grief and the hopelessness, the pointlessness yet it still has a pride. Have we lost that pride. Maybe not of our dead but do we have pride in our living?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here.  Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:

At the going down of the Sun.

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