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Friday, November 11, 2011


In Flanders fields the poppies blow,between         
the crosses,row by 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 Fileds.

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