Monday, May 25, 2009

Memorial Day

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.