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,
PLEASE LOG IN FOR PREMIUM CONTENT. Our website requires visitors to log in to view the best local news.
Not yet a subscriber? Subscribe today!
