In the field where the grass is perfectly cut and morning dew sparkles of each blade like diamonds stand thousands of white crosses. These crosses mark the graves of brave men and women who died for patriotism. Some of them were no older than eighteen years of age. As I stand in the field in the echoes of the wind I hear their laughter. I feel their strength. I even feel their courage as they died. This Memorial Day I salute them all as their flesh now lie to rest in the field.

Lore Me34

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