 I've been out of town until late yesterday, and the windstorm in my neck of the woods blew out 'net access until just a few minutes ago. Enough excuses, here's one of the greatest Remembrance poems of all time, written by Lt. Col. John McRae:
In Flanders Fields
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.
With thanks to Bill Blohm for nudging me to repost this.
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