Living to Tell the Story

Lest We Forget

In Flanders Fields

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 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.