On Memorial Day, Fort Snelling National Cemetery is the hoppingest place to be. Pam and Noah went there to put roses on Mom and Dad's graves. Even in late afternoon, there were thousands of people there, visiting their honored dead.
Dad always liked to recite this old chestnut (written by John McCrae in May 1915) on Memorial Day:
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 field.
On Memorial Day, Fort Snelling National Cemetery is the hoppingest place to be. Pam and Noah went there to put roses on Mom and Dad's graves. Even in late afternoon, there were thousands of people there, visiting their honored dead.
Dad always liked to recite this old chestnut (written by John McCrae in May 1915) on Memorial Day:
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 field.
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