Remembrance Day Quotes
Quotes tagged as "remembrance-day"
Showing 1-4 of 4
“The events of that day would forever be remembered, and they stood together as a united Marridon, a nation that would lead in innovation and liberality, taking up the thread that had been left for them, the essence of selfless love woven along a national loom.”
―
―
“It is Remembrance Day. A time to conjure up the mighty fallen. Friends and relatives rotting in the channel and mud of France. But the old man won't remember quite yet. Not till he's had his breakfast and read the paper. Then he will let the memories come back. Relive the good old days.”
― The Football Factory
― The Football Factory
“Ne'er Fade Away by Stewart Stafford
The hillside piper's requiem,
Guides old soldier's bones,
To slain brothers of his youth,
No longer a marching memory.
His scars, Valhalla's roadmap,
His medals, coins for Charon,
His conquests, the beacon fire,
His blood scours the path ahead.
This churned earth is now home,
Weeping craters, foxholes beatified,
Barbed wire hands joined in praying,
The minefield of life cleared for us all.
© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
―
The hillside piper's requiem,
Guides old soldier's bones,
To slain brothers of his youth,
No longer a marching memory.
His scars, Valhalla's roadmap,
His medals, coins for Charon,
His conquests, the beacon fire,
His blood scours the path ahead.
This churned earth is now home,
Weeping craters, foxholes beatified,
Barbed wire hands joined in praying,
The minefield of life cleared for us all.
© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
―
“The Armless Tics by Stewart Stafford
Never again, the blustering brass said,
Inked in blood, my generation dead,
Human meat carved with lunatic aplomb,
No cowering allowed from gun or bomb.
Lice, rats, and mud—war zeal’s reality.
Trench foot and poisoned-gas lethality,
Churned hellscape, where no man can be,
Scribbling letters home to preserve sanity.
The artillery’s heartbeat, now silent, aghast,
Shells raining on future, present, and past,
On a last keepsake bullet, I etched “11-11”,
Through influenza, faint prayers to Heaven.
© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
―
Never again, the blustering brass said,
Inked in blood, my generation dead,
Human meat carved with lunatic aplomb,
No cowering allowed from gun or bomb.
Lice, rats, and mud—war zeal’s reality.
Trench foot and poisoned-gas lethality,
Churned hellscape, where no man can be,
Scribbling letters home to preserve sanity.
The artillery’s heartbeat, now silent, aghast,
Shells raining on future, present, and past,
On a last keepsake bullet, I etched “11-11”,
Through influenza, faint prayers to Heaven.
© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
―
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