At the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, the First World War officially came to an end. Since then, the poppy became the symbol of remembrance in many countries.
The fallen and the poppies that mark their graves were honoured in a poem written by a Canadian Artillery, field-surgeon. If you can even begin to imagine, he wrote the poem in the midst of battle in 1915. Now one hundred years since that war ended, the poem lives on.
While this year everything is scaled down and for me, I won't be attending any live memorials; no watching the flyover and listening to the various speakers honour our war heroes. And, this year although the weather has complied, I won't be reminding myself that frozen toes are nothing, for our soldiers suffered the same cold with enemy fire all around them. It's a very different year, this year but the gratitude hasn't changed.
So today I'll leave you with the poem written by John McCrae who fought during World War I. He was a Canadian physician who is thought to have written the poem after the burial of his friend who was killed during the second battle of Ypres. 
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
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, saw dawn, felt sunset glow
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you with 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.
by: John McCrae
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