Today is
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 McCrae
1 comment:
Today I was at synagogue to honor the few remaining veterans of the last war. Not many years ago I would look at them and chuckle at their loyalty to their old uniforms and memories of battles old. More recently I have begun to appreciate the fragility of our freedoms and the courage of these elderly men. I also remember my Uncle Benjamin, younger than The Wandering Jew, when his RCAF plane was shot down in Belgium. The lightness that most of us westerners have in our lives is because of the sacrifices of these young men. Thanks-you, Wandering Jew, for reminding us of the meaning behind the poppie.
Post a Comment