In Flanders Field

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 through
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If we break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.


Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousands winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the mornings hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft star that shines at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there....I did not die


The Green Fields Of France

Well how do you do, young Willie McBride, do you mind if
sit here down by your graveside.
And rest for a while 'nieth the warm summer sun.
I've been working all day and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen when you
joined the dead heros of nineteen-sixteen.
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean.
Or Willie McBride was it slow and obscrene

Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the dead-march as they lowered you down.
And did the band play the Last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the 'Flowers of the forest'.

And did you leave a wife or sweetheart behind
In some faithful is your memory enshrind
Although you died back in nineteen-sixteen
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed forever behind the glass frame
In an old phonograph, torn battered and stained.
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame.


The sun now is shines on the green fields of France
There's a warm summer breeze, it makes red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds.
There's no gas, no barbed wire,
There's no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard it's still no-mans land.
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man's blind indifferance to his fellow man
To the whole generation thats butchered and damned


Now young Willie McBride I can't help but wonder why
Do all those who lie here know why they all died
And did they believe when they answered the the cause
Did they realy believe that this war would end wars
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory the pain
The Killing and dying was all done in vain
For Willie McBride it all happened again
And again and again, and again


Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly,
Did they sound the dead-march as they lowered you down
And did the band play the Last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the "Flowers of the forest'.




I call This Page
The Ever Changing page
This Month It Is My Easter Page

Facts and history of the Canadian 10 Provinces
and 3 Territories

History and information on North and Southern Ireland

From the most Northern part to the Southern Channel Isles
of Jersey and Guernsey



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