(Photograph of French poppies by Papy Biou, 2008)
IN FLANDERS FIELDS
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.
[Editor’s note. This poem was written by John McCrae (1872-1918), a Canadian physician who fought on the Western Front in 1914. He was then transferred to the medical corps and assigned to a hospital in France, where he died of pneumonia while on active duty in 1918. He wrote the poem in 1915 while he was serving in Belgium. --RWP]
