"In Flanders Fields the Poppies Blow..."

My father was not a poet and not the type to go around quoting poetry. But for some reason, every Memorial Day he would recite this poem from memory. He was born just after World War I ended, and he was a  World War II Vet himself. He never said why he liked or recited this poem, but he used to always bring me a Poppy on Memorial Day that he got from his VFW post. So, I just thought I'd post it up, in order  that we could all remember the enormous amount of sacrifice that has been put forth for us to continue this American experiment. May we be worthy of it.

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.

by John McCrae, 1919