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    Posted

    What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

    -Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

    Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

    Can patter out there hasty orisons.

    No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;

    Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -

    The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

    And bugles calling for 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.

    Wilfred Owen 1893-1918

    Lest we forget.

    Best regards

    Geoff

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