I was treated to a helicopter ride over Boston courtesy of the Marine Corps. Yes, I sold my soul for two minutes in a rented helicopter. But the pictures were worth it.
A thousand troops killed in Iraq. While this “milestone” is truly arbitrary, it does have profound symbolic meaning. Read this poem from another war, and another thousand dead young men.
A Thousand Killed:
I read of a thousand killed. And am glad because the scrounging imperial paw Was there so bitten: As a man at elections is thrilled When the results pour in, and the North goes with him And the West breaks in the thaw. (That fighting was a long way off.) Forgetting therefore an election Being fought with votes and lies and catch-cries And orator's frowns and flowers and posters' noise Is paid for with cheques and toys: Wars the most glorious Victory-winged and steeple-uproarious ... With the lives, burned-off, Of young men and boys.
Bernard Spencer, 1936
Borrowed from Slate.com