In Flanders Fields
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 amidst the guns below.
A strong breeze cut through the air, rustling the hair of the couple that stood hand in hand before a marble obelisk amidst rows upon rows of plain with crosses. The man was somewhat tall, with short black hair that stuck out at odd angles. He wore black slacks, a black vest and an olive green safari-style shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal scars beyond count. His companion was shorter, with bushy brown hair. She wore blue jeans and an off-white polo shirt. They did not speak, merely stared at the obelisk, reading the names inscribed thereon as a flock of larks circled overhead.
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
James & Lily Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Remus & Nymphadora Lupin, Fred Weasley. The list went on for an eternity, each one of them having perished in the line of duty. The unsung heroes, together with many scores of others they had triumphed over the most horrific creature in history. Was it worth it? Did the ends justify the means? For every one who fell, many more felt the anguish of never again seeing a brother, a parent, a lover, a friend. For every one who fell, that person would never again feel the warmth of a summers breeze, see the orange glow of the sunrise, or hear three words that are valued for so little, yet mean so much: "I love you." Yet because of them billions of people, magical and not, would enjoy peace for years uncounted.
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
The pair turned, tears reflecting off the sun. Beneath black wire framed glasses, his vivid green eyes met the chocolate browns of his companion. They both knew without speaking that they had chosen the perfect place to erect a monument to those who died to protect who they loved. The woman reached up and captured the man's lips in a soulful kiss, not minding the scratching of his beard. When she pulled away she whispered something, but the wind did not allow it to carry far. 'I love you Harry.' The man smiled. 'I love you too Hermione.' Hand in hand they left the dead to sleep, amidst a growth of poppies, in Flanders Fields.
Poem, In Flanders Fields, creditied to Lieutenant Colonel John A. McCrae MD (1872-1918)
Dedicated to the over 100 million military personnel and civilians, on both sides, who lost their lives due to armed conflict since the Great War in 1914. Lest we forget.