A Crimson Remembrance

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,… — from *In Flanders Fields by John McCrae The lime from fallen mortar, a remnant from when too many  young men died fighting another war that became remembrance, fed the poppies in Flanders Fields, and the red, a deep red tinged in black, in rows and rows ofContinue reading “A Crimson Remembrance”