Depending on who you believe, this young man's death was the inspiration for the poem, or it could have been the poppies growing, or it could have just been boredom speaking. :) Either way, his poem lives on.
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.
"Why doesn't it look like our map at home?"
"Is it a real map or a fake one?".. he then started checking it over, my attention-to-detail lad, and noticed that the creases in the map weren't real creases and realized it was a replica.
Then he noticed all these wavy lines...MOM! What are these for? He read the names and remembered that oceans have currents, so we traced them out, finding out how they bend and swirl around the continents, and they pass over each other (or so it seems) and it was just fascinating to watch him and to see how the currents move all around the world. |
When we were done, we headed across the street to sit in the shade of some trees by the river. The lad chased a young robin, and was stunned by the sight of a tree growing through a cement block. He noted how it bent out the concrete. It seemed a strong vigorous tree. The goslings we saw were farther along then ours at home.
We then headed off to the Civic Museum, which I will post about another time. :)