In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields

          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.