POPPY DAY

In Flanders Fields
BY JOHN MCCRAE

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.

I FEEL NO PRIDE IN THE FIELDS OF DEAD ACROSS THE CENTURIES OF INDUSTRIAL WARFARE… PEOPLE DIED ON ALL SIDES, MOSTLY TAWDRY DEATHS, MADE VAINGLORIOUS BY BEING RELATED AS A HEROIC TALE.

THINK OF ALL THOSE DEAD AND MUTILATED AND THINK, WE HAVE GOT TO BE BETTER THAN THIS!

DALE M

Published by dale.beck1@hotmail.com

I am a writer of words and a righter of wrongs. I aim to change the world, one person at a time.

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