"Though Poppies Blow"

by Martha E. Davis, age 17, "St. Nicholas" magazine, September 1930

Some gold drooped down from the gleaming sun
     And formed into poppies, fragile and deep.
They symboled a state that had just begun
     To wake from an opiumed sleep.

They ran down hillsides, brown and bare;
     They danced to a diamonded sea

And the poppies laughed in the azured air,
     For their souls were gay and free.

Some blood dripped out of a weary life
     Into a foreign field,
And the red from the product of Hell's own strife
     The gaps in the crosses sealed.

And the poppies of fire are thick and red
     As the bombs that burst in a sky.
They grow from the hearts of a fighting dead
     That fought for the right to die.

The poppies are gold in this sunny clime;
     In Flanders they're sparks from a flame;
But the seeds are alike as the years of time
     For the source remains the same.

Armistice Day

Today in the United States we call this date Veterans Day as it celebrates the veterans who have served in all the armed forces (Memorial Day is our day for all those who died in performance of their duty). The British celebrate this day as Remembrance Day and have an annual ceremony at the Cenotaph, their memorial to the dead of the first World War.

This year, of course, is special as it is the 100th anniversary of the armistice that ended "the Great War." At "the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month," the rifles and grenades and artillery went silent. I had the great pleasure of being able to watch the British ceremony at the Cenotaph this morning via Britbox. It was lovely, a beautiful day with no rain, and after all the dignitaries and various service groups and associated service groups marched, 10,000 people who are "just folks," not famous at all, followed marching for an ancestor who was involved with the war, just to commemorate them. So touching.

I walked the dog this morning under a beautiful sky, able to do so because of the people who have served, and continue to serve, their country in military service. Yesterday I bought a poppy from a veteran, who thanked me for buying it. I didn't do anything but sit around on my fanny. THANK YOU.

Armistice Day Definition

"The Day The Guns Fell Silent"

How it might have sounded when the guns went silent.

British Remembrance Day Ceremony in Pictures

This holiday was originally called "Armistice Day" to commemorate the ending of World War I, originally the Great War, which officially ended at 11 a.m. on November 11, 1918 ("the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month"). My parents, who were born in that decade, still called it that even after the name was changed after World War II.

In "my day" (that sounds so pretentious!), this poem was heard at school assemblies every November. We all learned it by heart:

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.

It's probably the one World War I poem everyone knows. The author was John McCrae, a Canadian, who did not survive the war.

More World War I Poetry