crier] the poppies OF THE FLANDERS FIELDS 343 



part of Western Europe. The barrages completely destroyed 

 the fertile top soil, and the region is now a white waste, dazzling 

 to look upon in the sunlight, and with the remains of trenches and 

 fortifications dividing it into irregular plots. Even with the con- 

 stant aid of the elements, it will be years before it will be habitable 

 for man again, but the hardy weeds, surviving every discourage- 

 ment man ha^ given them from poison gases to the ruthless tread 

 of the tanks, have already regained their footing, and in the 

 luxuriance of their growth the poppies make the only pleasant 

 things to look upon. 



They are ever\- where, but appear to like to consort, forming 

 borders along the roads, and especially along the parapets of the 

 trenches where the piled up chalky soil is thickest. Here they grow 

 their best, and I have often speculated as to why this might be, 

 but can only suggest that the raised parapet may tend to catch 

 the kidney shaped seeds when the wind swaying the long stalk, 

 causes the capusle to discharge them ; or perhaps it is the prefer- 

 ence of the plant for this exceptionally sterile soil for among the 

 rubble of the tragic ruin of the Rheims cathedral this scarlet 

 flower is by no means uncommon. And many a complacent 

 "doughboy" with the ntmib, goahead feeling of battle banished, 

 looks \Njjth a shudder at the poppies growing thickly on the mounds 

 with crosses — it is all too vivid a reminder of life blood spilt. 



The Winds 



The north wind brought a soul to earth, 



The east wind called him to roam, 

 The south wind lured him and tried his strength. 

 And teased him and wearied him, till at length 

 The west wind wafted him home, 



— Mary Starbuck in Treasured Nature Lyrics. 



