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.
-by John McCrae
Remember those who have given their lives, in wars past and present. They have all made the ultimate sacrifice so that we may live better lives, whether or not we agreed with the politics of the war.
May we soon have peace.
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.
-by John McCrae
Remember those who have given their lives, in wars past and present. They have all made the ultimate sacrifice so that we may live better lives, whether or not we agreed with the politics of the war.
May we soon have peace.
Labels: General Musings and Ramblings
posted by Romi at 9:27 PM
6 Comments:
Yes, Amen.
Thank you for the lovely sentiment. My father died in the service of our country -- the families continue to bear the price.
A beautiful poem, a very beautiful poem indeed.
It's true, if those brave people had not sacrificed themselves, the world today would be a different place.
Amen to that. Sometimes we lose track of what Memorial day is all about. Thanks for the poem.
I learned that poem years ago, and a framed (vintage) copy has hung on my wall for many years. There are beautiful fields full of poppies in France, and every time I saw a poppy I remembered this poem. Thanks for printing it!
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