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, 11-30-1872 - 01-29-1918, a Canadian doctor, artist and poet who served in World War I, best known for his memorial poem “In Flanders Fields”.)
German (art critics presume). Born in the Netherlands (his father was probably a diplomate), as Fritz F. Blitz. His biographer asked him where the second F. in his name stands for. "Fuck!.... I don't know, ' FF Blitz answered. "Probably Fritz too, I guess." According to the.. Read more…