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.
# #
#
# # #
