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Remember the Grass
Author: Raine
Date: 05/28/2012 13:10:09
On today's memorial day, let us take a moment to reflect upon one soldier who wrote a letter to be read upon his death.
I hope this fine young man is correct. On this day to remember those whose lives have been lost in war, I hope that we can see a future where we will see an end to creating more memorials for our war dead. Regardless of how one feels about our wars past and present, it is far too easy to forget that these soldiers sacrificed their lives. In this day and age, it is easy to forget:
Grass, Carl Sandberg, 1878,1967
and 
Raine
U.S. Marine Sgt. William Stacey was killed earlier this year by a homemade bomb in southern Afghanistan, a tragedy for which he prepared by writing a letter to his family explaining why he was fighting that was to be read in the event of his death. (snip)
Stacey was on his fourth deployment to Afghanistan when he was killed on January 31 in Helmand province. The young Marine from Redding, California, told his family that he was motivated to fight in Afghanistan to protect the country's children and provide them the opportunity to go to school and live out their dreams.
"There will be a child who will live because men left the security they enjoyed in their home to come to his," Stacey wrote in his letter. "He will have the gift of freedom which I have enjoyed for so long myself, and if my life brings the safety of a child who will one day change the world, then I know that it was all worth it."
I hope this fine young man is correct. On this day to remember those whose lives have been lost in war, I hope that we can see a future where we will see an end to creating more memorials for our war dead. Regardless of how one feels about our wars past and present, it is far too easy to forget that these soldiers sacrificed their lives. In this day and age, it is easy to forget:
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo,
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
and Raine
