The tulips and other early Spring flowers have bloomed and have gone. Now it’s the poppies turn to bloom in our front yard. Other flowers are waiting their turn to participate in the annual show of colors. Human lives share a similar cycle but only on a larger scale.
Nope. You’re out of date. The current one would like to bury his nose in the Bush as far as possible. A wobbly minority government is the only thing holding him back.
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
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.
Yes, it’s very good, isn’t it? The author
was a surgeon; he had just buried a close
friend and he took out a pen and paper and
described the scene–the poppies, which were
indeed blowing, the
swallows, the sound of gunfire, the crosses.
He threw the poem away, not thinking it any good,
and another soldier retrieved it.
What I want to know is what was originally on the right of the house- where there’s siding between the brick columns? It looks suspiciously like it might have been a port-cochere. Ya’ll know I’m a sucker for a house from that era.