In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks so 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 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.

Oh! You who sleep in Flanders Fields
Sleep sweet - to arise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And, holding high, we keep the faith
With all who died.

We cherish too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
Of the flower that blooms over the dead
IN FLANDERS FIELDS.

And now the torch of poppy red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson ye have wrought
IN FLANDERS FIELDS.


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