In Flanders Fields
by Lt. Col. John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
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.
On this November the 11th, I render an awestruck and thankful salute to our nation’s veterans, past and present. My own deployment to Bosnia was a cakewalk compared to what these brave men and women have been willing to sacrifice repeatedly. I encourage you to give a veteran a hug or a pat on the back today.
I lost my poppy. It fell off my coat on the bus, or — somewhere, anyways.
I have the (somewhat tacky but still cool) poppy quarter, though.
I probably won’t get a chance to buy a poppy because I have a class to teach tonight right after work. Oh well…