May I add a piece of my own scribbling?
Flanders Re-visited
We learnt, at father's knee, a verse
By John McCrae. In couplets terse
It tells of men who long ago
In foreign fields took on the foe
That we might grow.
These are the dead. The wond'ring mind
Scarce comprehends the awful find
Each time we halt. At Passchendaele, Tyne Cot, Frommelles
The serried ranks bespeak the hells
That are men's fears.
And poppies grow,
Refreshed by tears.
What is the fight? Who is the foe?
The torch we caught - how should we know
The trust they did on us bestow?
And yet,
And yet,
'Tis Freedom, sure, they did beget,
That we might grow.
Lest we forget.
Let's NOT forget.
JDG, April 2004