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)