In Flan­ders fields

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion -

IN FLAN­DERS fields the pop­pies blow 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. John McCrae (1872–1918)

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