Given the proximity of Remembrance Day and how many readers are undoubtedly wearing poppies to recognise the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918 when the guns fell silent, Outsider respectfully offers the classic and moving poem, In Flanders Fields, by John McCrae written on the battlefield in 1915:
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.
Add new comment