In Flanders Fields

Many years ago, I toured the battle site of the Battle of Vicksburg. Green, grassy knolls covered embankments from which cannons blazed death to opposing forces, a hundred years before. Once, the smoke of guns and the shouts and screams of dying and wounded men filled this battlefield. Now, all was quiet and birds sang. A hush clung to the place, a sort of awe at the lives, hopes, dreams spent there and the course of history altered forever.

Years later, I toured Arlington National Cemetery and gazed at row upon row of simple, white crosses. My mind couldn’t take in the sacrifices, the courage, the tears, those many, many lives that were given in defense of our country. They gave everything so you and I could be free. Let’s never forget. Let’s hold freedom near. It requires eternal vigilance and its cost is unimaginable.

In Flanders Fields

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.