In Flanders Fields

Dave was honored and privileged to read the poem “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae at the Breedsville Memorial Day parade. This custom had fallen by the wayside, and was always touching. The poem moves anyone who hears it. McCrae, a surgeon, did not survive WWII. Poppies grow where blood has soaked the ground in battlefields. It’s the meaning behind the “Buddy Poppy” sold by veterans at Memorial Day.

The poem: In Flanders Fields
BY JOHN MCCRAE

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.

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