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 lie
In Flanders’ fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe,
To you from failing hands we throw
The Torch: be yours to hold high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders’ fields.
They shall not
grow old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not
weary them, not years condemn.
At the going down
of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them
“We will remember them”
