Remembrance DayBy Cody Lynch, © 2007
On the eleventh day of the eleventh month
We pause at the eleventh hour
Some of us stop to pray
For soldiers who died or went missing along the way.
Lest we forget the wars that were fought
To give us freedom
So many were shot.
I will always remember
My great Grandpa who died
Rest in peace dear Grandpa
You are always on my mind.
I would love to join the military someday
To give back to my country
And to make my world a better place.
Rest in peace all you soldiers
Who gave up your lives
For people like me
It's a shame that you died.
On the eleventh day of the eleventh month
We pause at the eleventh hour
Some of us stop to pray
For soldiers who died or went missing along the way.
Lest we forget the wars that were fought
To give us freedom
So many were shot.
I will always remember
My great Grandpa who died
Rest in peace dear Grandpa
You are always on my mind.
I would love to join the military someday
To give back to my country
And to make my world a better place.
Rest in peace all you soldiers
Who gave up your lives
For people like me
It's a shame that you died.
In Flanders Fields
Poet: Dr. John McCrae
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.
Poet: Dr. John McCrae
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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