Today, they honor us…we few
Who died… and who did not.
We few who stood before the world
And told them all, “Come git some!
You’ll wish you never had.”
Today, there are parades. They come,
And so do we. And some will march,
But most will watch old men
In uniforms we wore, until the guns
Were handed to your sons.
Today, “In Flanders Fields” is read
By children, to old men who wear
In their lapels poppies to recall
Comrades of a fallen generation
Too lost in time to still be here.
Today, in mountains far away,
And desert towns… Afghanistan,
Iraq… and on the morrow, elsewhere,
They will fall and die… or not,
But broken, stagger home.