Obama in Flanders Fields

It was the talk of the day - or even weeks - On March 26, President Obama paid a long expected visit - the first in his 5-years presidency - to Belgium. It lasted only 23 hours but the impact was enormous. Highest security levels were unseen.  Several tests (i.e. helicopter flights) and preparative scenarios took place weeks in advance. As you can imagine, media attention to Obama's impressive entourage were elaborated, with the famous so-called "The Beast" (Obama's transportation vehicle) scoring high. 

Except for noisy helicopters flying above Brussels's air space, i didn't notice any of the "Obama fever".

Though, what got most of my sympathy, was his visit to the only American World War I Cemetery and Memorial in Belgium, where a lot (about 411) American soldiers are buried or commemorated. It's located in a little town Waregem in Flanders, not that far from my birth town.

There, President Obama cited from the poem by Moina Michael "We shall keep the faith". She wrote that poem as a kind of answer to the famous poem "In Flanders Fields' by the Canadian John McCrae.

Touched me quite a bit, emotional gesture to the 100 years rememberance of the Great War 

"We shall keep the faith" - Moina Michael

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet - to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.

And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
In Flanders Fields we fought

"In Flanders Fields" - John McCrae

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.