In Flanders Field by John McCrae

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 down,
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.

Video:

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