I present this poem every Veteran's Day, or Armistice Day as it was once known. More than any other poem, it speaks to me of the horror of war: Germans, French, British, Belgians, Italians, Russians, Austro-Hungarians, eventually Americans - all loved and were loved and now lie under Flanders fields or a myriad of other battlefields scattered across Europe, remembered now only in pictures and gravestones.
May we all see better days.
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.
Lt. Colonel John McCrae 03 May 2015
Sunrise thirteen minutes ago, time to plant the flags along the street in front of the house, 26 above now.
ReplyDeleteMuch honor to you Nylon12 (oh, how chilly that sounds).
DeleteLong ago a friend sent me an audio of the bombs exploding right up to the end of the war.
ReplyDeleteBear Claw
Wow. That nust have been sobering, Bear Claw.
DeleteBear Claw, I have heard this audio. It is powerful.
DeleteLinda, worth finding if you can on the InterWeb.
DeleteYou all be safe and God bless.
ReplyDeleteThank you Linda! You as well.
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