In
Flanders Fields
In
Flanders fields the poppies grow
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
Thursday, August 10, 2006 09:47:06 PM