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"IN FLANDERS FIELD"

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crossed, row on row,

That marks 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 your hold it high.

If ye break faith with us, who die,

We shall not sleep, Hough poppies grow.

In Flanders Fields.

by Col. John McCrae