Memorial Day

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.

John McCrae (1872-1918)

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About Theresa

I live in an old farmhouse in upstate New York (no, *not* the big city!) in the country with my family, two dogs, two calves, and two horses. I love to cross stitch, quilt, read, and look at needlework blogs :) and I love coffee *and* tea!
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