In Flanders fields the poppies blow

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

Scare hear 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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