General Discussion

When I have gone into the dark
I know quite well how they will mark
The muddy hole which I must lie,
A wooden cross and set thereby
In case the weather leaves it blank,
A bottled tag with my name and rank.

And yet I'm fool enough to pray
That one may dig me up some day
And box and ship me back again
To the golden land of little rain;
To the silver sage and turquoise sky,
To the far off hills that look close by --

And raise a stone above my head
The way they should when a fellow's dead,
With my name and age and place I died
And perhaps a line or two beside.
Not pious lies but just the truth:

'Here lies a cup that the wine of youth
Filled up once to the very brim.
Its owner clinked it rim to rim
With the cups of all the folks about
And never cared if a bit spilled out.
Till, just when he had had a taste
And knew the cup was too good to waste,
Big trouble started in the place
And he flung the wine into the bully's face,
Cup and all, the wine was lost
The cup was broken. He knew the cost;
And with legs still steady and eyes still bright
He walked from the tavern into the night.'

And the boys I knew will turn aside
Perhaps as much as a half day's ride.
To pass the point where the stone is set,
For they aren't the sort that will forget.

----- Ralph Linton

Linton served in the Rainbow Division in the First World War and would later become a writer and anthropologist. There was a ton of poetry from The Great War, much of it forgotten. I came across this one a few years ago and I'd like to try and bring this one back. To me it perfectly captures Memorial Day.