I posted this last year, but it bears reposting...
In memory of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, I offer poetry...
In Flanders Fields by John McCrae - 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.
Am currently enjoying lovely sunshine on my day off. My brother has been here since the weekend and made me yummy food and rice pudding! I LOVE rice pudding! I have a wonderful brother!