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 am a day late I am afraid in posting this blog but yesterday I was proud to participate in 2 minutes silence as we remembered, 100 years on, those who fought so stoically for our country in the first and second world wars.
I was humbled and proud to have conducted a funeral last week for a gentleman who not only survived the second world war but also survived 3 and a half years as a prisoner of war. I wear my poppy with extreme pride!
Far East Prisoner of War Poem...
And we that are left grow old with the years
Remembering the heartache, the pain and the tears
Hoping and praying that never again
Man will sink to such sorrow and shame.
The price that was paid, we will always remember
Every day, every month, not just in November.
We WILL remember them.
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