The 11th Hour of the 11th Day

IN FLANDER’S FIELD

by John McCrae
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.

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2 Responses to The 11th Hour of the 11th Day

  1. Dad says:

    John, you post the most interesting thoughts. The breadth of your interests and resources never ceases to amaze me.

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