Free Republic

I set In Flanders Fields to music, and created a song. My band and I recorded it a while back. We played it at a Memorial Day celebration in Black Canyon City, AZ to honor those who have served and never came home. Freedom is never free. Someone always pays the cost.

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.

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.

Just wanted veterans to notice. I haven't seen the poppy anywhere else this week. Tony Blair wore one. I was very touched.

LCol McCrae Publishes a Poem By Charmion Chaplin-Thomas December 8, 1915 In London, England, the popular magazine Punch, or The London Charivari publishes an anonymous 15-line poem entitled "In Flanders Fields". It is in the bottom right-hand corner of the left-hand page, surrounded by heavily comic articles about Christmas shopping, small children and Scots - topics Punch readers always laugh at - and a beautifully drawn but highly insulting cartoon by G.L. Stampa, in which a working-class mother walking home from market threatens her dawdling child with the Army recruiting authorities: "Come along, slacker, or I?ll put Lord Derby on...

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.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS 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.