Poem In Flanders Fields Printable

Poem In Flanders Fields Printable - To you from failing hands we throw the torch; Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw. Web we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie, in flanders fields. We shall not sleep, though poppies grow. Be yours to hold it high. Between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place; And in the sky the larks,. In flanders fields the poppies blow. Take up our quarrel with the foe:

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Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw. We shall not sleep, though poppies grow. And in the sky the larks,. The larks, still bravely singing, fly. If ye break faith with us who die. Web take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw the torch; Web in flanders fields by john mccrae in flanders fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place;. In flanders fields the poppies blow. Be yours to hold it high. Take up our quarrel with the foe: Web we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie, in flanders fields. Web in flanders fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place; Between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place; If ye break faith with us who. Be yours to hold it high. Web we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie, in flanders fields.

Be Yours To Hold It High.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: If ye break faith with us who. To you from failing hands we throw. Web in flanders fields by john mccrae in flanders fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place;.

Web In Flanders Fields The Poppies Blow Between The Crosses, Row On Row, That Mark Our Place;

Take up our quarrel with the foe: And in the sky the larks,. If ye break faith with us who die. Web we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie, in flanders fields.

The Larks, Still Bravely Singing, Fly.

Between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place; Web take up our quarrel with the foe: We shall not sleep, though poppies grow. In flanders fields the poppies blow.

Be Yours To Hold It High.

To you from failing hands we throw the torch; Web we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie, in flanders fields.

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