In Flanders Fields...

In memory of John M. Larkin, Jr.

 

 

 

 

John had a voice that ranged somewhere between gravelly and angelic. He read "In Flanders Fields" at every Memorial Day gathering for as far back as I can remember, and John also graced us with a reading at my father's funeral.

 

For the rest of my days, wherever and whenever I hear this WWI poem recited, John's voice - and the multitude of wonderful memories it evokes - will come shining through.

 

 

In Flanders Field

 

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, May 1915