In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, Thatmark our place; and in the sky Thelarks, 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 Thetorch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.