The loveliest and most terrible thing about remembering is that it needs to go on and on and on.
Of all the First World War poems, this is the one that comes to my mind most frequently (and not just at Easter) and makes me most forlorn.
Here it is in full.
The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men,
Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should
Have gathered them and will do never again.
Photo: User:Velela
Word to think about today: never. This word comes from the Old English næfre, and is a compound of ne, not, and æfre, ever.
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