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Poppies Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

Greeting Cards

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$2.40
Get this by Dec 24

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taiche

Ula, Turkey

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Sizing Information

Small Greeting Card Large Greeting Card Postcard
4" x 6" 5" x 7.5" 4" x 6"

Features

  • 300gsm card with a satin finish
  • Supplied with kraft envelopes
  • Discount of 20% on every order of 8+ cards

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Artist's Description

Poppies have long been used as a symbol of sleep, peace, and death: Sleep because the opium extracted from them is a sedative, and death because of the common blood-red color of the red poppy in particular. In Greek and Roman myths, poppies were used as offerings to the dead. Poppies used as emblems on tombstones symbolize eternal sleep.

Shop Customizable Delicate Poppy Gifts of Remembrance
Click the links to see all of my Redbubble Poppy Paintings, Poppy Photography, Poppy Greeting Cards, Poppy Stickers, Poppy Tees, Poppy iPhone Cases and Poppy iPads.

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*My Images Do Not Belong To The Public Domain. All images are copyright © taiche. All Rights Reserved. Copying, altering, displaying or redistribution of any of these images without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited

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Dulce Et Decorum Est

BENT double, like old beggars under sacks
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—-An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—-
my friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen

Artwork Comments

  • amarica
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