In Flanders Fields by John McCrae - Poems | Academy of American Poets

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.

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