In Flanders Field
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place;
and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing,
fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived,
felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn 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.