desert_vixen's lair

In Flanders fields.
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.

— Lieutenant Colonel John Alexander McCrae
Canadian poet, physician, author, artist and soldier (November 30, 1872 – January 28, 1918)

I have it posted in my office as well.  I am not a big fan of poetry, but this one - especially the middle section - always touches me.