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| Photo captured by Alan Ranger, at Blackstone Farm nature reserve in Bewdley, Worcestershire |
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.
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.
I read this poem many of times. I don't know if I know enough to fully appreciate the meaning of this poem. Many of us grow up with little to no knowledge and understanding of war. I heard stories and watched documentaries of wars, that's about all. Despite that, I can empathize on the sacrifices soldiers made and are making for defending our country. I'm thankful for them. I'm thankful for those that gave their lives so we can have what we have today. To the ones who passed, and those who are currently serving, thank you.
