image caption: A father kisses his dead daughter as he closes her eyes at a hospital in Falluja, east of Baghdad, April 30, 2005. A rocket exploded in Falluja killing the girl and injuring ten other people according to local witnesses and doctors. REUTERS/Mohanned Faisal
Support the Campaign for Innocent Victims in Conflict (CIVIC)
one way to support the fallen
one way to support the Iraqi people
many other ways to support the troops and the Iraqi people
one way to support victims of torture
one way to support the troops
one way to witness every day
image and words below the fold
Death
by Thomas Hood
It is not death, that sometime in a sigh
This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight;
That sometime these bright stars, that now reply
In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night;
That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite,
And all life’s ruddy springs forget to flow;
That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal sprite
Be lapp’d in alien clay and laid below;
It is not death to know this — but to know
That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves
In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go
So duly and so oft — and when grass waves
Over the pass’d-away, there may be then
No resurrection in the minds of men.