In Flanders Fields (1915, John McRae
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.
This poem was inspired by the second battle of Ypre, but applies with equal force to the Somme. When we buy a poppy from a veteran on Memorial Day, we are honoring the fallen generally, but especially those who died in the meatgrinder known as "the war to end all wars" - surely, the most ironic appellation in human history.