auntypsychotic

In Flanders' fields, the poppies blow, and we who walk among them know that here men fought, and bravely died with equal courage, side by side; the lark has overcome the crow. We touch the Dead in memory – embrace them through the century. The earth enshrines their valiant hearts in Flanders' fields. The torch has guttered years ago; the enemy has been laid low. And though your names should slowly fade, your blood a better world has made. Rest you now where the poppies grow in Flanders' fields.