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Phantom Blooper
03-31-04, 09:47 PM
LtCol John McCrae (1872-1918)

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.

Osotogary
03-31-04, 10:01 PM
A very beautiful poem, Phantom Blooper...a very beautiful poem.
But I'm still Pi$$ed off about Falluja and my son's telephone call.
It's interesting how certain emotions take precedent over others. I will read this poem, once again, tomorrow and concentrate on each and every word.
Thanks for posting this very fine poem.
Gary(osotogary)