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. Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, Canadian Army Medical Officer- Died of cerebral meningitis on the Western Front on January 28, 1918
Yesterday at church we were talking with the kids about the “11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month” for Veteran’s day, and neither of us could remember if it was from before or after the second world war; I ended up arguing it had to be the Great War, because of the poppies. One of the older ladies who waits in the basement until her ride gets there just quietly watched with amusement, and I realized there was a good chance she was still a teen when WWII ended.
In my head, ladies her age were kids at the end of WWI. In real life, there aren’t many of those around anymore.