Fields of Death
In flanders fields,
The fields of woe,
The moon shine down,
Upon our foe.
The wars at end,
A truce we've come upon,
The light goes dim,
And the morn will dawn.
In fanders fields
When poppies die
The grave of dead
Soon will lie
More fall to death
The dead has grown
In flanders fields
The fields alone
Copyright © Jodi Hill | Year Posted 2012
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