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Báo cáo lỗi dịch thuật
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.
Lest we forget the millions that died during the horrid conditions in trenches in the Great War,
Those who sacrificed their lives for what cause?
Fly high soldiers may you rest in peace. 🙏🕊
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