Monday, May 26, 2008

Memorial Day

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.
-- John McRae

The story of the poem's composition and publication is here.


Todd Mason said...

Bill Crider said...

Thanks, Todd.

Cap'n Bob Napier said...

Nice tribute, Bill.

Anonymous said...

I was raised in Hell's Kitchen in Manhattan. There's a small park on 11th Avenue and 52nd to 54th streets called DeWitt Clinton Park (a one time New York Governor). There was a statue of a World War I soldier in that park with that poem engraved on the pedestel. I don't know if it is still there since it's been a long time since I've been there. It has remained in my mind ever since. Thanks for the link.