05-27-2013, 12:42 PM
In the US, today is the day we celebrate Memorial Day. Originally, this day was a solemn day to remember the fallen soldiers of the Confederacy (following the War Between the States / Civil War), and time was spent tending and decorating the graves of Confederate war dead, called Remembrance Day. Not long afterwards, the whole nation adopted the holiday, and the graves of both sides of the war were honored.
Today, in our typically secular fashion, we give a casual nod to the military dead from all wars in the past in which the US participated, and revert to our beer, barbecue, and car racing (The Indianapolis 500). Celebrations are good, but there is still, even in the pleasure driven 21st Century, cause to be somber and remember that without the sacrifices of the military men and women of the past, and the sacrifices of their families and fellow citizens who stayed back and worked toward the war effort on the home front--we would not be a free nation today.
I was inspired to write the poem below not as much as a memorial to a universal soldier alone, but to include the families, who stayed and kept vigil for their men. Military people, I thank you for your service to the country, and hope those of you still deployed in foreign lands come home safely as soon as possible.
Happy Memorial Day, all. Take a little time between burgers to remember those who made this day off work possible.
Freedom Isn't Free
--David Wills
She stands in their door with a dishtowel in her hand
Looking past the farms or the woods or the sea.
She's searching for her laddie that the war has made a man.
She's the daughter or the sister or the mother-to-be,
She's the orphan of the battle, she's the mother of our land,
And she knows what she's given for us all to be free.
Freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it,
It's bought with their sweat and their pain and their fear.
A grandma or an aunt is sitting, rocking in her chair
Near the fire in a cottage, with her Bible by her side.
She's thinking of a picnic and a boy with tousled hair
How he fell from that tree, skinned his knee and how he cried.
She was at his band recitals, at graduation she was there,
And she was sitting, rocking, praying at the moment that he died.
No, freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it
It's bought with the blood of the ones we hold dear.
By a tree in the valley, or a crater sudden found
His hands still grip his weapon as he stares into the sky.
And those who've come to carry him can't muster up a sound,
For though he fought bravely, they weep and wonder why
It's their comrade they're carrying, not themselves on the ground.
There's no glory left in valor of the ones who had to die.
You know, freedom isn't free for those who have to buy it,
And only those who have lost it know its value full clear.
Today, in our typically secular fashion, we give a casual nod to the military dead from all wars in the past in which the US participated, and revert to our beer, barbecue, and car racing (The Indianapolis 500). Celebrations are good, but there is still, even in the pleasure driven 21st Century, cause to be somber and remember that without the sacrifices of the military men and women of the past, and the sacrifices of their families and fellow citizens who stayed back and worked toward the war effort on the home front--we would not be a free nation today.
I was inspired to write the poem below not as much as a memorial to a universal soldier alone, but to include the families, who stayed and kept vigil for their men. Military people, I thank you for your service to the country, and hope those of you still deployed in foreign lands come home safely as soon as possible.
Happy Memorial Day, all. Take a little time between burgers to remember those who made this day off work possible.
Freedom Isn't Free
--David Wills
She stands in their door with a dishtowel in her hand
Looking past the farms or the woods or the sea.
She's searching for her laddie that the war has made a man.
She's the daughter or the sister or the mother-to-be,
She's the orphan of the battle, she's the mother of our land,
And she knows what she's given for us all to be free.
Freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it,
It's bought with their sweat and their pain and their fear.
A grandma or an aunt is sitting, rocking in her chair
Near the fire in a cottage, with her Bible by her side.
She's thinking of a picnic and a boy with tousled hair
How he fell from that tree, skinned his knee and how he cried.
She was at his band recitals, at graduation she was there,
And she was sitting, rocking, praying at the moment that he died.
No, freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it
It's bought with the blood of the ones we hold dear.
By a tree in the valley, or a crater sudden found
His hands still grip his weapon as he stares into the sky.
And those who've come to carry him can't muster up a sound,
For though he fought bravely, they weep and wonder why
It's their comrade they're carrying, not themselves on the ground.
There's no glory left in valor of the ones who had to die.
You know, freedom isn't free for those who have to buy it,
And only those who have lost it know its value full clear.
M. Demetrius Abicio
(David Wills)
Saepe veritas est dura.
(David Wills)
Saepe veritas est dura.
