:: www.kneuf.com ::

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

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 your to hold it high,
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders' fields

John McCrae was a doctor serving in the Canadian Armed Forces. He was so deeply moved by what's happening in France, in 1915, he scribbled a little poem in his pocket-book. That poem was In Flanders Fields. The war ironically ended on the eleventh day, of the eleventh hour, and on the eleventh month. So, that's why ever November 11th, we have a moment of silence, and we wear poppies. To remember those who fought for us in the first World War. [handwritten copy] [bio]