Boy on Top

I bought a poppy this morning. I do every year, usually more than one as I often loose them. As a symbol it seems to be loosing a bit of prominence every year, is seen a bit less. I find that so incredibly sad.

To me it has deep meaning. Personally I feel that freedom is a privilege, not a right. One that is often earned with blood, and must be re-earned by every generation. The prosperity we enjoy today rests on so many shoulders that to count them can only result in tears. If we fail, if we forget, then freedom falls.

So every year I buy a poppy, and I thank the vetran who sells it to me. Every year I wear it to let the world know that I personally don't forget. Every year I tell myself the words I learned as a boy...

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.

— John McCrae