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 hand we throw
The Torch; Be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, tho poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
On the 11th month, the11th day at the 11th hour, we remember....
We will remember them.
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