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.
And what about the bit about you being a complete and utter Poppy Freak?
ReplyDeleteI'm actually a freesia freak!
ReplyDelete(I do love a flanders poppy though- you are right!
I must remember to go to mum and dad's where they are self-sown in all the garden beds.)