100 years ago, John McCrae, Brigade Surgeon and Major of the 1st Brigade Canadian Field Artillary, wrote In Flanders Fields after the death of his friend Alexis Helmer.
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.
John McCrae died of pneumonia at Boulogne on January 28, 1918.
Consumed by Ink 
Such a waste, World War I.
It’s a lovely poem until the third stanza, but it had the unfortunate effect of rallying more people to a senseless war.