n Flanders fields the poppies grow 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~us & inner love~

n Flanders fields the poppies grow 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

-- 'a poem speaks to the heart'