‘In Flanders fields the poppies grow — 
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. 
Love 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. 
John McCrae 
