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
