What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?Only the monstruos anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
By Wilfred Owen
4 comments:
I had considered this one by Owen or or even a couple of his others (Futility) but they are more appropriate for you to quote. I like this post, Cara. It is a fine line, isn't it: to support the people but not the senselessness ... however, strong the reason.
A most emotional day ...
War is never glamorous; never fun; nothing but a living hell. Hopefully these kinds of events reinforce that understanding.
Well posted, we must remember so as not to repeat. Hopefully.
Hopefully one day we will learn as Glennis says. Most definitely your best image. Extremely evocative and powerful.
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