Normandy American Cemetery (JWB Photo) |
In
Flanders Field
By
Major 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.
in Flanders fields.
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