In Flanders Fields
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.
Lt. Colonel John McCrae 03 May 2015
A fitting post for today TB, thank you. At sunrise the flags get punched into the turf along the street.
ReplyDeleteNylon12, this remains one of my favorite poems. Such a sad and yet hopeful poem. In it one can still hear whispers of the world before World War I, soon to be extinguished forever.
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