by John McCrae, May 1915
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
In Flanders fields.
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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8 comments:
What a magnificent photo and post! Thank you.
Great post Regina!
Fine reflections creating a rhythmic set of patterns. The photo and poem work together.
The angles are remarkable, Regina. A bit like Escher.
What a wonderful post!
Nice post. That reflection really plays tricks with the eyes.
Beautiful shot, love the repetition... Sorry I been so quiet these last couple weeks, I’ve been really ill (now finally diagnosed with Whooping Cough even though I was immunized) and have had another very rough week.
That poem is so evocative. Love the poppies too.
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