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
Scare heard amid the guns below.

We are dead. Short days ago
We lived,felt dawn,saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up your quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If you break with us who die.
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow.
In Flanders Field