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, hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies blow
In Flanders fields.
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