11/11

[Greg Boeser]

Today marks the 105th anniversary of the end of the War to End All Wars.
In the United States it is celebrated as Veteran's Day. In other countries Rememberance Day.
Today let us remember the sacrifices made by the men and women serving in the armed forces in wartime and in peace.
For all you veterans out there, thank you for your service.

 

[rochie]

Wait for me and I'll come back!
Wait with all your might!
Wait when dreary yellow rains
Tell you nothing's right;
Wait when snow is falling fast;
Wait when summer's hot;
When no one waits for other men
And all the past's forgot!
Wait when those that wait with you
Are bored and tired and glum,
And when it seems, from far away,
No letters ever come!

Wait for me and I'll come back!
Wait in patience yet
When they tell you off by heart
That you should forget;
And when my mother and my son
Give up on me at last
And friends sit sadly round the fire
And talk about the past
And drink a bitter glass of wine
In memory of me –
Wait! No rush to drink with them!
Tell them to wait and see!

Wait for me and I'll come back,
Escaping every fate!
'Just a lot of luck!' they'll say,
Those that didn't wait.
They will never understand
How, amidst the strife,
By your waiting for me, dear,
You had saved my life!
Only you and I will know
How you got me through!
Simply – you knew how to wait!
No one else but you!

 

[Mainly28s]

Our village had a small ceremony around our memorial at 11:00 today. The names on it were read out loud for all to hear.

 

[Wurger]

 

[Capt. Vick]

https://imgur.io/gallery/ilQiOXW

 

[33k in the air]

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on 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.

— In Flanders Field by John McCrae