In Flander's Field

   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.

LTC John McCrae, MD and Artillery  in the Canadian Expeditionary Force