[garinda]

Thank you.

Like so many good (war) poems, they help you stop and think, and see things from a different prospective.

My grandad died aged 22 in Normandy, four months before my mum's actual birth, so she never knew him, and it was hard for my nan to talk about him to us, even all those years later.

My mum will occasionally say so and so is the same age your grandad would have be now, if he's survived, but with the passing of time, as illustrated in the poem, those men are becoming fewer and fewer, over the passage of time.

We must never forget the sacrifices that were made for us, by these brave men, and women, and their families.

We also mustn't forget the people who are risking, and giving, their lives in service for us today.