In Flanders Field

My first Sunday in London was Remembrance Sunday. Remembrance Sunday is the day set aside to remember all those who lost their lives in service to the Queen. In the U.K., everyone wears a poppy on their lapel. Everyone.

Here? We skirt around veterans selling poppies, as we really don’t understad the significance of the poppy or understand what it means to lose millions in a war. Below is the poem In Flanders Field, written by John McCrae. Follow the link for a fascinating explaination of why poppies grew on along the front.

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.