My Mom planted these poppies, I don’t know when exactly, would have been circa 1980. She would’ve gotten the seeds from my Grandma who had them around her house. I don’t know when Grandma planted hers either, would’ve been circa 1960. The poppies are a beautiful memory of them.
I don’t like the poem, “In Flanders Fields”, where this post title “The Poppies Blow” comes from. In the poem the dead, fallen in battle during WW I, exhort the living to “take up the quarrel with the foe” or else the dead won’t be able to rest.
When we ever learn?
In Flanders Fields
By John McCrae
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.
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.
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
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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