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Between the crosses row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amidst the guns below. We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be your 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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