Walt Whitman: Come Up from the Fields Father
Open the envelope quickly,
O this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is sign’d,
O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother’s soul!
October 21, 2022 · 1 Comment
Charlotte Mew: The Cenotaph
Not yet will those measureless fields be green again
Where only yesterday the wild sweet blood of wonderful youth was shed
November 11, 2021 · Leave a comment
Erich Maria Remarque: All Quiet on the Western Front (Chapter 12)
It is autumn. There are not many of the old hands left. I am the last of the seven fellows from our class. Everyone talks of peace and armistice. All … Continue reading
November 11, 2018 · 2 Comments