In Flanders Field
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
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God Bless all of our soldiers. Those who have given their lives in all the battlefields and those who remain to fight for us throughout the U.S. and the world.
What a beautiful poem. Made me cry . . . but then, what doesn’t these days. I might be a hag, but I think I do it well, even with tears running down my cheeks.
BTW, what a fun site this is along with midlifebloggers. (Oh my, just thought of my new online name, hagpag. Or is just a coincidence that my last name begins with “pag”? Probably won’t use it for the over-50 dating sites, though. Wouldn’t put the right vibe out there.)