26 lines
762 B
Text
26 lines
762 B
Text
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
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between the crosses, row on row,
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that mark our place; and in the sky
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the larks, still bravely singing, fly
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scarce heard amid the guns below.
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We are the dead. Short days ago
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we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
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loved, and were loved, and now we lie
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in Flanders fields, in Flanders fields.
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And now we lie in Flanders fields.
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Take up our quarrel with the foe:
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to you from failing hands we throw
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the torch; be yours to hold it high.
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If ye break faith with us who die
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we shall not sleep, though poppies grow
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in Flanders fields, in Flanders fields.
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We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
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in Flanders fields, in Flanders fields.
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John McCrae / John Jacobson and Roger Emerson
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https://invidious.snopyta.org/watch?v=vlIrKaDWa24
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