November 11, 2005
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.
Posted by: Warren Kelly at
08:11 PM
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Post contains 101 words, total size 1 kb.
Posted by: Marty Duren at November 19, 2005 06:57 AM (bGvue)
Posted by: Warren at November 19, 2005 10:04 AM (DPRNU)
Posted by: Marty Duren at November 21, 2005 06:06 PM (YUMpG)
Posted by: Warren at November 21, 2005 09:16 PM (DPRNU)
Posted by: Marty Duren at November 22, 2005 09:23 AM (nSITo)
Posted by: Warren at November 22, 2005 04:49 PM (DPRNU)
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