Took cake and cookies over to the firehouse again. Molly went with me.
They Shall Not Grow Old
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the night.
Laurance Binyon (1914).
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