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 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.
--Cat
·
·
·
·
·
·
