The Poppies Blow
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. ~by John McCrae
Happy Memorial Day!