In Flanders Fields (1915) by John McCrae

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 flow,
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.
Canadian poet John McCrae was a medical officer in World War I. A year into the war he published, on Dec. 9, 1915, the sole work by which he would be remembered. This poem commemorates the deaths of thousands of young men who died in Flanders during the grueling battles there. It created a great sensation. Legend has it that he was inspired by seeing the blood-red poppies blooming in the fields where many friends had died. In 1918, McCrae died at the age of 46. We reprint this in honor of Veteran’s Day on Nov. 11. Please feel free to submit a commentary if you desire.