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 fields.
American soldiers sacrifice so much,
All for the freedom of our country.
Leaving their families and heading off to war,
Not knowing what the future holds.
Working day and night
Determined to stay strong.
Watching friends be killed every day
Letters from home inspiring them to keep fighting
So little is given to them
Although there is little to do,
For those who have died in war
We can still remember
Remember all the men who have died.
Remember all the battles fought
Remember all the tears families cried
Remember it was freedom the soldiers brought
To this very day soldiers are under-appreciated
Veterans Day is the day
For the dead, living, and fighting soldiers
To be remembered
There is a price we pay for freedom
For it is not truly free
But rather paid for by the contributions of veterans
To buy our liberty
As their blood drains from their body and runs like a river through the grass
Over the years it's forgotten, war is placed in our past
I don't think we all realize the importance veterans play
as they voluntarily serve America each and every day
We should honor the veterans for they act like a shield
Protecting us from danger, keeping America healed.
So if you would take a second to commemorate
You will instantly see
We owe veterans our gratitude
For they are the reason we are free
The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die, To face the flaming cannon's mouth nor ever question why, Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red, The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed, The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall: 'Tis these that make a soldier great. He's fighting for them all.
'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave; 'Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave; For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam As when behind the cause they see the little place called home. Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run, You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun. What is it through the battle smoke the valiant soldier sees?
The little garden far away, the budding apple trees, The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play, Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray. The golden thread of courage isn't linked to castle dome But to the spot, where'er it be ó the humblest spot called home. And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air; The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green, And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been.
He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call, And only death can stop him now ó he's fighting for them all.
On Veteranís Day we honor
Soldiers who protect our nation.
For their service as our warriors,
They deserve our admiration.
Some of them were drafted;
Some were volunteers;
For some it was just yesterday;
For some itís been many years;
In the jungle or the desert,
On land or on the sea,
They did whatever was assigned
To produce a victory.
Some came back; some didnít.
They defended us everywhere.
Some saw combat; some rode a desk;
All of them did their share.
No matter what the duty,
For low pay and little glory,
These soldiers gave up normal lives,
For duties mundane and gory.
Let every veteran be honored;
Donít let politics get in the way.
Without them, freedom would have died;
What they did, we canít repay.
We owe so much to them,
Who kept us safe from terror,
So when we see a uniform,
Letís say "thank you" to every wearer.