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.
- John McCrae
As a post- script to the above poem I will add a short story regarding a discussion with my nine year old son.
Yesterday morning, before school and the ensuing Remembrance Day assembly, he asked me where the money for the poppy pins goes. (There are donation boxes in all the local retail outlets).
I told him that the money goes to the Canadian Legion, an organisation for Canadian war veterans.
Another item we touched upon was that the current membership of the Canadian Legion is decreasing, because members are simply dying of old age.
"This is good thing", I explained and asked him if he knew why.
To a young boy, people dying cannot possibly be a good thing...
Of course not, it never is.
But, when it involves membership to an organisation consisting of war veterans, it can be.
It means that we are so very lucky to be living in this time of peace.
In Flander's Field. Excellent post.
ReplyDeleteMy Son and I were blessed today with the sight of two white doves flying together. I put pictures up on my blog to share with you.
Peace, love and light to you and yours.
There was a very old man interviewed for TV a number of years back.
ReplyDeleteHe was a WW1 veteran of the trenches. He was so old that his skin was almost opaque and his eyes had sunk deep into his face.
He spoke of the terrible guilt he felt about being left behind to live when 'all' of his 'pals' died on a beautiful French July morning back in 1916.
He said that it wasn't until he spoke with a farmer some years later that he came to terms with why he had been spared.
The farmer told him how they cut the wheat for harvest. He told him that even after the men had gone into a field to cut the wheat there would always be some wheat plants left standing.
The veteran went away and thought about what the farmer had said.
The old man looked directly into the camera. 'The last standing blade of wheat was me, but someone had to be left to blow their story to wind' With that he lowered his head. He only said three words. (as I write this I'm choking up) With a hushed voice almost as a whisper he said 'Beautiful, brave, lions'.
...And there for his grace and that of gods go you and I.
Oh Dale,
ReplyDeleteIf I did win, I will share. One sock is better than two I always say...
Be well!