I have just typed out this most beautiful little poem (that I’m sure most of you know) and WordPress won’t allow me to break it into stanzas at all….

In Flanders Fields the poppies grow

Between the crosses, row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard among 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 thee 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.

Perfection. (Barbara’s comment – not John McCrae’s!)

And a note: I will be in Canada the next couple of weeks so may or may not post, according to time and circumstance.

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