One hundred years ago today, John McCrae lost his life to pneumonia in the No. 14 General Hospital in Wimereux, France. The struggle was not long, lasting less than four days from diagnosis to death.
A great deal of verse has been written in memory of McCrae. As far as I know, the first to have achieved publication is by Florence E. Westacott. Her "John M'Crae" appeared in the 13 February 1918 edition of the Toronto Globe, seventeen days after his death.
JOHN M'CRAE
He made for us the poppies glow
In Flander's Fields
Forever we shall see them grow;
A crimson harvest row on row,
They stand revealed.
The torch back hurled with failing hand
Is high upborne;
Its summons flaming land to land
Caught swift response from farthest strand
Which greets the morn.
All peacefully now the dead
In Flanders Field,
Their course well run, their message sped;
The poppies bending overhead
From guard and shield.
Still flares the Spartan torch youths fling
By Flanders Field,
But who the poet's song shall sing,
Or clearly strike that pulsing string
His cold hands yield?
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