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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.
— Lt. Col. John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
In memory of Cpl. Bert Whitehurst (1895-1918)
Cpl. Bert Whitehurst
(1895-1918)
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Discussion (9)
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Weren't you the person who posted this beautiful poem last year? I don't know why that sticks in my mind.
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Terrific poem, worth sharing every year.
And I'll respond as I usually do, with my favorite of the several poems written in response, the one titled America's Answer by R. W. Lillard:
Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead
The fight that you so bravely led
We've taken up. And we will keep
True faith with you who lie asleep,
With each a cross to mark his bed,
And poppies blowing overhed,
When once his own life-blood ran red
So let your rest be sweet and deep
In Flanders Fields.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
The torch ye threw to us we caught,
Ten million hands will hold it high,
And freedom's light shall never die!
We've learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders' fields.
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I am. Bert Whitehurst would have been my father's uncle, but died on November 11, 1918 at Chateau Thierry.
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Oh, I didn't remember that part. Today you've given it even more meaning for me.
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