Flanders Field...bagpipes

Every year when Memorial Day comes into to view, certain images have been engraved onto my mind. I know no other way to pay homeage to those who volunteered or were drafted, but to give credit to a poem and song that already pays respect.

I distinctly remember being in the 5th grade, in Mrs. Wilson's social studies class, we were given the opportunity to memorize poems and do a collage. She assigned me; Flanders Field. I've always had the capacity to understand and express full emotion rather quickly. I silently read through my poem...I had listened to stories from my grandfather who served as a medic in WWII, in a mobile unit on the front lines. The poem became too real for me and I burst into tears...my teacher was horrified; I explained to her that my grandfather knows some of them that lie in Flanders Fields, he's shown me pictures...and now my heart is breaking.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

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.