This is one of my all-time favorite poems:
by John McCrae, May 1915
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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And this was sent to me in an e-mail. I went to snopes.com and checked (as I never believe anything sent to me via e-mail!) and it's a true story:
No Desks <----click! (sorry I can't copy and paste it here so you'll have to follow the link to the story on the Snopes website).
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