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Today, December the 8th, is the 90th anniversary of the publication of Canadian First World War medical officer John McCrae's poem "In Flanders Fields".

In Flanders fields the poppies blow (1)
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.


Today, the stretch of Ontario's Highway 401 that was first popularly then officially designated the "Highway of Heroes" saw some traffic, as the bodies of three more dead Canadian soldiers--victims of the fighting in Afghanistan now totalling an even one hundred--made their final trip in a hearse down the 401 from Canadian Forces Base Trenton to the coroner's office back in Toronto, onlookers paying their respects from roadside.

Who'll take up their torch, I wonder. Will the faith be kept? Is the faith worth keeping at all, in this case at least? I wonder.
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