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    In Flanders Fields

                         BY JOHN MCCRAE

 

       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.