Wednesday, May 10, 2017

In Flanders Fields

Normally, I post this on Memorial Day, but what with recent events in France, I couldn't wait that long.

This is a photo of the American Cemetery in Normandy.

Each cross -- plus many, many more not in this photo, and those in other cemeteries across France -- represents an American who died so that the French could live free.  They tossed the torch, and the French people dropped it.  No, they threw it down, and in so doing, spit on the grave of every one of these brave men. 

If you listen closely, you can hear their voices whispering, "If ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep" 

In Flanders Fields

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.

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