In the spring of 1915, the Flanders battlefields burst into flower. That winter, poppy seeds had been thrown wide by the bombardments and churn of battle.
John McCrae, a Canadian soldier, wrote a poem in memory of his friend who had died at Ypres. His poem, In Flanders Fields, was published in Punch magazine that December. It was an immediate success.
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.