John McCrae - In Flanders Fields

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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.

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.

John McCrae

Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain
Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street

John McCrae