Flanders Field bleeds,
Gunshots heard from near and far,
Echoing through the fields,
Even heard by the stars.
In Flanders Field bullets are found,
Blood leaking for bullet wounds,
Look all around—
Over flat land and small mounds.
On Flanders Field,
There we find nameless soldiers,
All wounds already healed,
Waving at us, over their shoulders.
There, in Flanders Field, there we find,
The many people who have died.
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