Saturday, April 25, 2009

Have a beer for them, and make sure it taste fucking great.


In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep,though poppies grow

In Flanders fields . com

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