In honor of all who have served . . .
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
Hi Melanie, that poem makes me cry. Having stood by the graves at the Villers Bretonneux Australian National Memorial in France and walked among to poppies in the battle fields nearby it is hard not to get emotional when thinking of those who sacrificed their lives there.
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