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 among 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.


Obviously not an original work.

Having had family die in, and because of, the many wars that have been fought and are still being fought, and out of respect for those that not only carry the torch, but fight for the flames to keep burning, I ask that this be left up here for the rest of the day.

Please do not comment, simply take a moment and choose to make it a silent one. Cast your thoughts to those that have died and are dying.

If you wish to speak about this poem and how it relates to present day please make one in the Discussions thread.

Thank you.