Today is always a hard day for me, as I’m sure it is for many others who suffered far worse. Every year, I have nightmares, can’t sleep and spend most of every September 11th crying if I stop long enough to think. At first, I wasn’t going to blog, but then I thought back to one of my favorite poems, In Flander’s Fields. Canadian physician and Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae wrote the poem after presiding over the funeral of a friend lost in WWI in The Second Battle of Ypres.
I loved the poem so much, I committed it to memory. I was eight years old.
This morning, I couldn’t get the verses out of my head, thus please forgive me. I took some creative liberty with the original poem in hopes of honoring those lost on 9-11. I’m no poet, but maybe this can be a little bit of beauty to help us always remember those so senselessly taken.
In Stonycreek, the flowers blow
as airplanes taxi row on row.
They mark our place; and in the sky
The birds, still singing, bravely fly
Scarce heard amidst the tears below.
We are the Dead; twelve years ago
We loved, and laughed and didn’t know
Evil could rain from up above
And tear us from the ones we loved.
Two towers lost; the Pentagon.
A burning field.
Remember us; let children grow
To honor those who fought the foe.
The light be yours to keep it bright
Remember those who chose to fight
If you forget, we shall not rest
Though flowers blow…