I know you all may have seen other versions of this story, but I haven't seen anything like this.
A young British soldier returns home from Afghanistan, as his tour has ended, to help him relax, he plays an old game of Minecraft and plays a mod that...
This is in honour to those who died this day, a hundred years a good, and died fighting that war, and the ones that followed in the years to come, leading to now.
For the Untold thousands who disappeared from this world, and the family's that are forever shattered, we show our gratefulness that they sacrificed their bodies and souls so that we may know peace, we will know freedom and prosperity, and we can not... Will not, forget.
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 a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, 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 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;
As the stars that 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.
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In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
THANK YOU FOR READING, VOTE TO SHOW YOUR SUPPORT FOR THOSE WHO NEVER CAME BACK, AND TELL ME IF YOU HAD A RELATIVE WHO FOUGHT IN THE GREAT WAR.
Please think of them on the 11th hour, give them 2 minutes, of the time they gave their own lives for, for us to have all the time in our lives.
