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, 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 w 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, through poppied grow
In Flanders fields.

By James McCrae
May 3, 1915

*Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae was born on November 30, 1872, in Guelph, Ontario, and died on January 28, 1918. He is remembered and known as a poet, physician, and author.