John McCrae | In Flanders Fields
The following poem was composed by John McCrae, a doctor serving in the military during wartime. Upon the death of a friend and former student he had been serving with, McCrae scribbled the fifteen lines below during one of his breaks, gazing upon the grave of his friend. The poem was nearly lost when McCrae threw it away, but another soldier sent it off to England to be published. McCrae’s words below, for me, embody the camaraderie of military fellows and the character of death all in the beautiful language and meter of poetry.
In Flanders Fields
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.
–John McCrae
Tags: death poetry, In Flanders Fields, John McCrae, military poems
