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 he break faith with us who die,
       We shall not sleep, tho poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

				- John McCrae.