In Flanders Field

I have been planning on making a quilt with at least one large applique poppy.  I love poppies for their color and because they can lend a modern feel to a quilt. So Georgia O'Keefe-ish.  I have all I need for the quilt.  However, tonight the thought of poppies has brought to mind the poem, "In Flanders Fields", which I think is so simple and yet so moving.  The poem has saddened me so that I don't think I can do a quilt and enjoy it.  Maybe it is the two fiorinals and lack of sleep. Whatever, this is a new one for me. 

I once did a quilt I call "Appalachian Windows" and all the while I made it, I thought of my father.  That did not make me sad--in fact, I felt quite the opposite.  I cannot look at it without thinking of him. So why this reaction to the poppies? Well, I suppose it has to do with young lives being cut short and in service to us.  This is not a natural death that comes with old age. 
 
I doubt I will ever feel quite the same about poppies again, despite their beauty.

We owe so much to those men and women who gave their lives for our freedom, and to all our wounded warriors and all who continue keep vigilant watch.

Well, now that I have written such a downer blog, I might as well include the poem:

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

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.