In Flanders Fields
(my favourite poem)
by John McCrae
McCrae was born in McCrae House
in Guelph, Ontario to Lieutenant-Colonel David McCrae and Janet Simpson
Eckford; he was the grandson of Scottish immigrants. He attended the Guelph
Collegiate Vocational Institute and became a member of the Guelph militia regiment.
The background of his family is military.
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.
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