BUDDY POPPIES
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 the 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.
In Flanders Fields by John McCrae
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