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I got new sunnies (sunglasses) today for my holiday (see previous post) and I thought I’d show you while I was still home.


Sorry about the quality.
So, in say…ten and a half hours I’ll be going to Parkes with my little sis and getting on a regional airline plane to fly to Sydney, at which point we’ll meet up with my Aunty Robyn, Cousin Margret and her son Lachlan. At 12 something we’re catching a flight to Brisbane and will be afterwards staying at Nara Resort at sea world for a few days, then staying at a sea side apartment building for the rest of the eight days I’ll be away. I’ll try to update here, so you can check back here. I’ll have Internet access the whole time as far as I can tell so it should be all good. I also get to swim with the dolphins.
Oh I haven’t seen the sea in so long, it shall be glorious.
To all my lovelies. I’ll BBS.
Well today was my 16th, and I changed the layout here and put my own header. I have some more writing prompts to post eventually, I hope everyone had a happy holiday and new year, too.
Today is remembrance day and in honour of that I present that which I do on such occasions, a minutes silence and this;

The Ode
The Ode comes from For the Fallen, a poem by the English poet and writer Laurence Binyon and was published in London in the Winnowing Fan; Poems of the Great War in 1914. The verse, which became the League Ode was already used in association with commemoration services in Australia in 1921.
FOR THE FALLEN
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children
England mourns for her dead across the sea,
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow,
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not 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 daytime,
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires and 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.
As the stars shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

