In Flanders Fields

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,                         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.                                                                     John McCrae