the poppies

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 a mid 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 you break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep

though poppies grow in Flanders fields.

 John McCrae (1872-1918)