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 among the guns below.
John McCrae
Thus the liberties of Holland and Flanders waxed, daily, stronger.
John Lothrop Motley
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow: In Flanders fields.
John McCrae
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