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.
3 comments:
I've never understood how it is, that the men who make the decision to go to war. Don't actually go themselves.
But if it were not for the bravery of the men that do fight for our country, then I would not be able to be a potter today.
and for that I thank them.
I always loved that poem. One of the few good things that came from that war.
Bravery beyond belief. There's a kid from the village who has just joined the army - he's Luke's age, it's a sobering thought - just kids.
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