In Flan­ders Fields By John McCrae

Zululand Observer - Weekender - - ZO NEWS -

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.

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