05 April 2012

A Favorite Poem

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.

"In Flanders Fields," 
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD 


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