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
McCrae wrote this poem in 1915, the day after his friend was killed in battle. He looked at his friend's grave as he composed the poem during the second battle of Ypres, Belgium.
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I remember learning this poem in high school, probably in
Miss Long's class. My heart and mind always return to it when I see poppies
being sold by veteran's groups - or see the flowers growing in the wild. I
wonder if Miss Long pointed out that many of our grandfathers probably fought
in World War I, as both ours did? I don't recall Mom and Dad ever talking about
their fathers' service in World War I. I don’t remember asking Grandpa or
Poppie about it. Maybe they told us stories and I wasn't listening. Now
that I'm paying attention, I wish I'd asked more questions – or listened – or both.
Harry Floyd & Caryl Holton served in France in World War I