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.
Wandering Cat Studio 
We never learn do we?
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This was one of my dad’s favourite poems — sad as it is, it reminds me of the very high cost of freedom. Thank you for posting. ♥️
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I’m amazed at how many that don’t know the significance of the poppy. They gave the veterans poppies at Pipers school program honoring veterans. Most didn’t know what it meant. Very sad. We forget way too soon.
Blessings and hugs,
Betsy
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Perfect words of remembrance–and we need reminding!
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Beautiful post!
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Such a beautiful post!
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Lovely post today:)
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