Friday, 11 November 2011

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,
flanders fields
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
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

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