3 comments for “Veterans Day, formerly Armistice Day…”
Christopher Daly
at
To your post I’ll add a poem by my grandfather about WWI… where he was, and what he was doing on November 11, 1918. It was written in 1947 and titled, “Armistice Day”.
I remember, I remember
A day so long ago,
When I walked through the fields of France
Where scarlet poppies grow.
The grass and weeds were shoulder high,
They crossed and laced between,
As if they wished the hold the dead,
Who, sleeping, were unseen.
Then as I brushed the grass aside,
I’d find a friend or foe,
And thrust his gun into the earth,
So that the spot would show.
I was alive! By grace of God
I still could think and feel;
Yet here were men who met their fate
In lethal bits of steel.
We all had played a gambler’s game
A few short day’s before.
My card was marked, “You will live on!”
Their’s read, “Your days are o’er!”
The torch, which from their stricken hands
Was passed along to me,
Must burn in the undying hope –
That men continue free.
The memory of those fallen men
Must live and never die.
God help me carry on for those
Less fortunate than I.
Mike Shuster
at
Christopher, thank you so much for sharing your grandfather’s deeply moving poem. What is his name?
Christopher Daly
at
Mike, my grandfather was William Edwin Daly. He enlisted on June 2, 1917. He became a sergeant on March 7, 1918, was awarded the Croix de Guerre, Order of Regiment on October 28, 1918 and was honorably discharged from the Army on November 19, 1918.
He left and then returned to Harvard, graduating (I think) in 1920. I mention that because of the most recent post about undergrads from elite schools making their way to France in 1915.
To your post I’ll add a poem by my grandfather about WWI… where he was, and what he was doing on November 11, 1918. It was written in 1947 and titled, “Armistice Day”.
I remember, I remember
A day so long ago,
When I walked through the fields of France
Where scarlet poppies grow.
The grass and weeds were shoulder high,
They crossed and laced between,
As if they wished the hold the dead,
Who, sleeping, were unseen.
Then as I brushed the grass aside,
I’d find a friend or foe,
And thrust his gun into the earth,
So that the spot would show.
I was alive! By grace of God
I still could think and feel;
Yet here were men who met their fate
In lethal bits of steel.
We all had played a gambler’s game
A few short day’s before.
My card was marked, “You will live on!”
Their’s read, “Your days are o’er!”
The torch, which from their stricken hands
Was passed along to me,
Must burn in the undying hope –
That men continue free.
The memory of those fallen men
Must live and never die.
God help me carry on for those
Less fortunate than I.
Christopher, thank you so much for sharing your grandfather’s deeply moving poem. What is his name?
Mike, my grandfather was William Edwin Daly. He enlisted on June 2, 1917. He became a sergeant on March 7, 1918, was awarded the Croix de Guerre, Order of Regiment on October 28, 1918 and was honorably discharged from the Army on November 19, 1918.
He left and then returned to Harvard, graduating (I think) in 1920. I mention that because of the most recent post about undergrads from elite schools making their way to France in 1915.
Chris