I first published this poem on this blog 28/09/12, and republish it here without apology. As I stated in an earlier posting today, I have just returned from Belgium, and witnessed the Last Post at The Menen Gate. I found this to be profoundly moving.
In a gift shop window a little further down the street, In Flanders Fields made the centerpiece of the shops' display. Looking for a gift for a friend who is a veteran of the Second World War, I saw a book of the same name by Herwig Verleyen. It is the story of John McCrae, his poem and the poppy. Having bought it for Michael, I am inspired to utilise the poem again as 'Poem of the Week'.
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.
(Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD)
John McCrae is remembered for what is probably the best known and popular of all World War I poetry. It is believed the he was so moved by the death of his friend Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, who had been killed by a shell burst, and inspired by the profusion of wild poppies he could see in the nearby cemetery, that he wrote 'In Flanders Fields'. Sadly John McCrae did not survive WWI; he died from pneumonia whilst on active duty in 1918.
Source: British Legion Campaign Leaflet 2012
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