In Flanders field the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row by row,
That mark our place, and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
We are the Dead. Short days ago.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie.
In Flanders Field
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 Field
John McCrae
6 comments:
Wow...that gave me chills.
Bless you sis for sharing this, love you.
I've always loved that poem.
((Hugs))
Laura
Wow! That was very moving!!
Oh Sister, I haven't seen this poem in forever. How beautiful are the feet that bring the gospel--and how beautiful are the feet of those who serve and die for freedom! Oh the many that have died in forein fields!
I love it too--what a great memorial to the men and women who fought and died to protect us and our families!
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