In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks still bravely fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. short days ago
We lived, saw dawn, felt sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up your quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch be yours so hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
