This site is dedicated to the Memory of my wife Linda 28-
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.
John McCrae
Memorials
Lest We Forget