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... (1)

And so another memorial day approaches. I was at Publix today and an old submariner was at a folding table handing out paper poppies. No charge. Just take one and be damn glad men and women were willing to go to war to save your ass. But nobody stopped while I watched, first from the truck and then from the store.
Have we all forgotten what the Poppy represents? Blood red poppy? Flanders Fields? Well if you have you had better look it up and learn it. And if you haven’t already done so, go out today or tomorrow and find one of these vets, take a poppy and say “thank you for your service”. If you can spare a buck or two, drop it in the jar. If not, don’t be worried. They didn’t serve and die for your dollar. They served and died for you.

Poem: Lt. Col. John McCray quoted from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_McCrae
Image: cornsss.blogspot.com/2007_11_01_archive.html