Like four million other people I went to the tower of London this week.
The view was awe inspiring, to look down and think each of those poppies represents a lost soul.
It made my heart feel tight.
Here are my pictures.
In Flanders Field, by John McCrae 1915
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.
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.
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.
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.
4 comments:
What awesome and beautiful pictures Sol.
Thanks Dave. Wow, it was really something. So many people lining up.
That's a wonderful poem to mark a horrific conflict.
I'd love to have visited the sea of poppies. I've seen so many photos of it. Unfortunately I'm no longer a Londoner!
Im not a Londoner either. I am glad I went. I also went and saw a few things that I have meant to see before but never have.
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