Wednesday, November 11, 2015

In Flanders field 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 lived, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up your 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.

(John McCrae, 1872 - 1918)