In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the Crosses, row on row.
That mark our place; and in the sky
The lark, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below.

We are the dead.
Sort 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 falling 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.

By Lt. Col. John McCrae, of Montreal
whose body lies in Flanders fields